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ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

























































Lady Sarah Lennox 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

The Romance of Lady Sarah Lennox 


A NOVEL BY 

W , KATHARINE TYNAN 

Author of 

TBS STORY OF CECILIA. BETTY CAREW 
PRINCESS KATHARINE, ETC. 


WITH REPRODUCTIONS OF PORTRAITS BY 
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS ^ 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 

x 


Copyright 1913 
The Bobbs-Merrill Company 


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,V\ $*\ 2> 

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©CI.A35 7 38^^_ 


To the one of Lady Sarah’s blood in whom 
live her wit, her immortal charm, her kindness. 



































* 















t 







Since writing this romantic study of Lady Sarah I 
have learned from her great grandson, Captain Frederick 
H. P. Williams Freeman, that her family has always 
felt she was treated badly by Sir Charles Bunbury and 
that if ever a woman had an excuse for running away 
from her husband, she had. 

The book owes much to The Life and Letters of Lady 
Sarah Lennox , edited by Lord Ilchester and the Dow- 
ager Countess of Ilchester, and acknowledgments are 
here gratefully made. 


K. T. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

The Cold Bridegroom 




PAGE 

1 

II 

The Gipsy’s Prediction 

. 

. 

. 

14 

III 

Sally Has a Frolic With the King 

. 

. . 

26 

IV 

In Which Sally May Be Queen 

. 


. 

41 

V 

The Tree of Love .... 




56 

VI 

In Which Sally Steps Down . 

. 


. 

78 

VII 

In Which Sally Has Her Heart’s Desire 

. 

94 

VIII 

In Which a Blow Falls Upon Sally 

. 

. 

109 

IX 

In Which Sally Sees a Ghost . 

. 

. 

. 

125 

X 

From Sally in Town to Susan in 

THE 

Country 

141 

XI 

What a Thing Friendship Is . 

. 

. 

. 

157 

XII 

The Passing Show ... . 

... 

. 


173 

XIII 

Sally Chooses Love 




187 

XIV 

Her Penitence .... 




202 

XV 

She Chooses the Hard Way 

[•> 

W 


218 

XVI 

The Beginning of Spring . 




230 

XVII 

In Which Sarah Is Cast Down 

. 

... 

. 

246 

XVIII 

False Dawn .... 



. 

262 

XIX 

The Frost ..... 

. 

>• 

. 

275 

XX 

Domesticities .... 

I.! 


• 

291 

XXI 

The Assembly 

W, 

i«; 

• 

306 

XXII 

Indian Summer 


i»; 

1*. ;. 

321 

XXIII 

The Candid Friend 




336 

XXIV 

The Ring of Polycrates . M 

w 

M 

[.• 

351 






ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


I 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


CHAPTER I 

THE COLD BRIDEGROOM 

I 

S ALLY was born a child of romance. Her 
father, the then Earl of March, was taken al- 
most from the nursery to be married to little Lady 
Sarah Cadogan. Poor Lady Sarah was sold to 
pay a gambling debt. My Lord March, who was 
very happy at Eton and had not come to that age 
when a girl is anything but the inferior of a boy, 
on being presented to a crying and frightened child 
from the nursery damned as prettily as any grown- 
up gentleman ; and with a muttered “ Dash it, they 
shall not marry me to that dowdy,” glowered at the 
unhappy child who had as little use for a bride- 
groom as he for a bride. However, he was mar- 
ried willy-nilly: and the matter seemed of less im- 
portance to him when he was carried off straight 
from his bridal to make the Grand Tour. In time 


2 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


he almost forgot that unpleasant episode with the 
shivering dull child, whose leaden complexion and 
heavy hair were made the more hideous by her 
sacque and petticoat of white satin embroidered in 
pearls. 

They parted without a word, a kiss: the little 
countess quite as well pleased to be quit of her 
bridegroom as he of his bride. Her wedding 
clothes were taken away and laid in sweet-bags. 
She went back to the schoolroom, sewed her little 
samplers, carried a blackboard and studied lan- 
guages and the use of the globes: till, at twenty, 
she threw over the traces, and refusing any longer 
to work at her embroidery- frame, to model wax 
flowers and paint in water-colors while the 
countess her mother read aloud from Blair’s Grave 
or the works of that learned divine Doctor Dodde- 
ridge, she claimed her position as Countess of March 
and was all of a sudden a woman of the world. 

II 

In London there were plenty who would have 
been ready to induct the young countess — a wife 
and yet not a wife, ignored and condemned by her 
lawful husband — in the ways of vanity and folly, 
if not worse. But the young Countess of March, 


THE COLD BRIDEGROOM 


3 


brought up in excellent religious principles, had 
her talisman against the wiles of foppery and the 
world. She was very pensive in appearance — her 
face of a clear oval, almost colorless, but relieved 
from insipidity by the beautiful dark eyes in which 
was a depth of feeling seldom found in English 
eyes. True windows of the soul were they: and 
over them were fine delicate eyebrows of a most 
lovely arch and curve. Her head was crowned by 
heavy masses of soft night-black hair. In her por- 
trait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, then a very young 
painter, we see her a charming creature, leaning 
by a pedestal on which is a statuary of Cupid 
transfixed by his own arrows. She had an extraor- 
dinary pensive grace. Her hand, supporting her 
forehead, does not hide the charming profile, the 
bewitching brows, the curved lips made for 
laughter, but by sadness foreign to their nature 
drawn a little downward at the corners. She had 
emerged indeed from the weeping child, who had 
always suffered from a cold and had been as dull 
in the schoolroom as she had been depressing in 
the nursery. 


4 


-ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


III 

She rode, she walked, she danced, she sang, she 
played the harp. In a day when beauty was held 
to be more delightful because of its betises she 
dared to be a woman of wit and spirit. There were 
bets at the clubs in the first year of her living in 
London as to how soon Lady March would take a 
lover and who would be the happy swain. By and 
by the gentlemen began to talk of her as an icicle, 
a prude, a stiff and starched piece of propriety. 
To one gentleman, and he very young and unso- 
phisticated, Sir Anthony Scrope, of Scrope in 
Devon, who was genuinely and honestly in love, she 
proved herself neither prude nor icicle. She had 
seemed to look kindly on the youth’s passion for 
her, with a kindness which might have deceived 
others but roused no hope in the unfortunate gentle- 
man’s breast that his flame was returned. Said he 
to a couple of fribbles who were quizzing him at 
White’s because her ladyship had smiled at him: 
" Sirs, she is kind : as kind as my mother or the 
Virgin Mary;” and that seemed so strange an ut- 
terance in such a place that he went out with his 
face aflame, in a dead silence. 


THE COLD BRIDEGROOM 


5 


IV 

She had sent for Anthony Scrope and received 
him at her lodgings in St. James’s Street, where 
her old duenna, deaf as a post, sat and knitted in 
an adjoining apartment. 

“ Sir,” she said, when he had drunk tea with her, 
“ I will not conceal from you why I have sent for 
you. If you had pursued me as others have, with 
a shameful insolence, the ardor of their pursuit 
being whetted by the knowledge that I am a wedded 
wife, I should not have sent for you. Your case 
is very different from theirs : for I can not disguise 
from myself that you have honored me by some- 
thing very particular in your feeling toward me, 
in which respect is not forgotten.” 

“ Oh, Madam,” broke out Anthony Scrope, only 
restrained from falling on his knees by the presence 
of Lady Nicholson in the next room, who although 
deaf, was not blind. “ Oh, Madam, I have never 
deceived myself. I love you to distraction; but I 
have never imagined for one moment that you 
would deign to cast a look upon such a one as I. 
Believe me that in loving you I did you no wrong: 
rather has it been that loving one so far above 
me has kept me honest and upright in thought and 


6 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


deed. The only excuse I have to offer for my pre- 
sumption in loving such a lady is that I am the 
better man for it.” 

“ And a very good excuse, too,” she said, while 
her smile deepened its kindness. “If ever I have 
need of any gentleman to defend me I shall remem- 
ber Sir Anthony Scrope. But now it seems to me, 
Sir Anthony, that the best service you can render 
me is to go back to your own Devonshire. I own 
it would not be unpleasing to me for you to stay 
and adore me: and if I were another woman I 
might be content to take all and give nothing. But 
not being that woman, and London being a danger- 
ous place for youth and simplicity, I would ask you 
to do me so much service as to return to your own 
country, so that evil tongues may not defile our 
friendship. When a woman is unprotected, as I 
am, the greatest service a man who loves her may 
render her is to keep away from her.” 

He began to stammer something about being her 
bond-slave and that he. must obey her, however hard 
were the commands she laid upon him, but she 
lifted a hand to silence him. 

“ I would have you go free,” she said. “ I could 
very easily delight myself in a devotion like yours, 
but I should be a worse woman for doing it. In 


THE COLD BRIDEGROOM 


7 

Devonshire is there not some one beautiful and 
kind . . .?” 

“ I do not know how you knew, Madam,” he 
said. “ There is my cousin, Susan, a good girl and 
handsome, and we were children together. But I 
did her no wrong in loving your ladyship. We 
were but boy and girl, brother and sister al- 
most. There is no room for passion in a tie so 
calm.” 

“ I think perhaps,” she said, and her smile was 
bewilderingly kind and soft, “ that when you left 
home you turned your back on felicity. Going to- 
ward the sunset you shall find it again.” 

Perhaps her smile was too kind. He lifted his 
head and his eye had fire in it. 

“ God forgive me,” he said, “ for asking the 
question, but — am I sent away because of another 
man ? ” 

“ Why, yes,” she said. “ I like you so well, Sir 
Anthony Scrope, that I could hardly send you away 
if there were not another man.” 

He saw blood and his head swam. But she had 
taken his hand in a cool gentle clasp. 

“ Do me no wrong in your mind,” she said, “ for 
the man I love is my unkind, my neglectful hus- 
band. Not to any man in England would I tell 


8 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


this but to you. His image has grown in my heart 
from our first meeting. ,, 


V 

Meanwhile the Lord March had enjoyed himself 
like other gentlemen of his age and circumstances. 
He had made the Grand Tour; and being come to 
full manhood, yet delayed to return to his country 
and his friends. He had found the world a pleas- 
ant place, and many ladies to smile upon him, for 
he was rich and handsome, young and of a fas- 
cinating manner. He hardly remembered his child- 
bride except to think of her with a momentary 
repugnance. Intolerable that because their fathers 
gamed high his life should be sacrificed to an ugly 
child somewhere in the mists of England! 

He had learned to feel, for he had been played 
fast and loose with by a lady who had lured him to 
her side many a time only to cast him free again, 
till she tired of the game and settled to domesticity 
amid her black-eyed babies at her villa among the 
hills. Her whistling him down the wind had left 
him to a world in ashes, or so he thought, although 
since he was but twenty-five he might have known 
that a world in ruins is easily rebuilt for one of his 
age and condition. The Princess Magda had left 


THE COLD BRIDEGROOM 


9 

him cold to other ladies. He was sick of adven- 
ture: and one day he remembered that he had a 
country of his own and that his father and mother, 
growing old, constantly entreated him to return. 

About Lady March he had no curiosity. He 
knew that her mother had carried her home after 
the marriage, and he supposed she was still in her 
father’s house, if he gave a thought to her at all. 
She was not likely to disgrace him, he had said to 
himself, remembering the ugliness of her pale face, 
distorted by tears. He supposed that some time 
he would have to see her. He would make it plain 
to her that he expected nothing from her, that she 
need expect nothing from him. The Dutchwoman 
he called her in his mind, because my Lady Cado- 
gan was of that nation, and said to himself, new 
from the burning eyes of Italy, that he needed no 
Dutch vrouw, broad-built and plain, to sit at his 
table. 

But, back again in his native country, he became 
aware of a curious softening in his regard toward 
her. Poor wretch! Was it her fault that she was 
ugly? Was she not to be as much pitied as he? 
Was not she, as well as he, the victim of their 
fathers’ vices? His repugnance for her was some- 
what softened by his pity. He remembered his own 


IO 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


boyish brutality and cried out on himself for an 
unmannered ape: to his amazement, he was aware 
of a pang of pity as he recalled how she had shrunk 
away as before a blow from his insolent and angry 
gaze. 

He supposed he would have to see the poor 
wretch. After all, she bore his name: she was his 
wife. It was no fault of hers that they were bound 
by a chain which neither of them had desired. The 
thought of being husband to her had hardly pre- 
sented itself to his mind. She might be as unwill- 
ing as he. Surely if she had common spirit and 
pride she would be unwilling. He was free to 
confess that he had treated the poor wretch ill. 

VI 

Arriving in London he made inquiries, and dis- 
covered that Lady March was not with her parents 
in the country, but in lodgings in London, where 
she resided with an ancient cousin for duenna, and 
a lap-dog; that she lived very quietly for the most 
part and was engaged in good works; that she 
sometimes went into the gay world, and being a 
devotee of music, was frequently to be seen at the 
Opera. 

It was the night of the first production of The 


THE COLD BRIDEGROOM 


ii 


Beggar’s Opera. All the town was going: and my 
Lord March, unwilling, nay, dreading to meet his 
ugly bride, postponed seeing her for yet another 
day and went to the Opera instead. 

He found himself alone at the Opera. He had 
been long enough away to prevent his knowing the 
world or being known. Attired very soberly, he 
sat in the pit like an apprentice. From thence — 
while the Fantini warbled her sweetest, and her 
rival nightingale, Gozzoli, shook showers of golden 
notes that soared and flew in the opera-house and 
fell again like golden stars — he saw a face so beau- 
tiful that, being impressionable and young, he 
seemed to pass into a trance-like state of amazement 
and delight as he gazed upon it. 

The lady to whom it belonged sat leaning her 
cheek in her hand, the elbow resting on the ledge 
of her box. She was very beautiful, young and 
sad. Her small head, sprung from a neck white 
and slender, was crowned with so heavy a weight 
of soft dark hair that it seemed impossible so deli- 
cate a stem should bear it. Her cheek was of a 
lily-like pallor. His eyes devoured the little head 
against its background of scarlet and gold curtain. 
The small, pale, pure profile, the line of the cheek 
where her hand did not conceal it, the snows of 


12 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


neck and bosom, the soft, dark mournful eyes, 
divined rather than seen, ravished him. “ She is 
the most beautiful thing alive,” he said to himself, 
“ and she is sad.” He was suddenly thrown into a 
paroxysm of burning jealousy of the man who 
could make her sad. 

As though she was drawn by his gaze she averted 
her eyes from the stage, and in the obscurity of the 
pit she sought for and found him. The dark stars 
of her eyes, as he called them with Italian fancy, 
rested upon him : straightway the Lady Magda, and 
all those other ladies who had played with him or 
with whom he had played, were forgotten. 

He knew then that this was the one woman for 
him. All the others had been but fancies. This 
was the one woman. 

She kept her eyes on him for a full minute, it 
seemed to him; there was something strange in the 
gaze which he could not understand. Then she 
turned away from him and resumed her watching 
of the stage. He put his hand on a neighbor's 
arm. “ I pray you, sir, of your goodness,” he said, 
“ to tell me, if you know it, the name of the lady 
in yonder box, the pale lady in white, with her 
hair worn natural.” 

“ Where do you come from,” replied the man, 


THE COLD BRIDEGROOM 


13 


staring, “ not to know the beautiful Lady March, 
the most beautiful and the most virtuous woman in 
London, although her husband, the Earl of March, 
keeps away from her as though she were an 
ogress ? ” 

The earl looked up and perceived that Lady 
March had left the house. He was just in time to 
intercept her as she entered the coach. Indeed, he 
followed her within it and took her in his arms. 
Pardon was neither asked nor given: no explana- 
tions were made beyond “ My dearest delight, I am 
your husband,” and the sigh with which Lady 
March sank ipto her husband’s arms. 


CHAPTER II 

THE GIPSY’S PREDICTION 

I 

O F this strange and passionate reunion was my 
heroine, Sarah, born. 

She was a wild child, a creature of spirit and 
fire. She was one of a family of two boys and 
four girls, all handsome, brilliant, witty and of a 
volatile spirit. Sarah perhaps inherited more of 
her passionate mother than the others, with her 
clouds of night-black hair and her beautiful brows. 
She had a most ravishing complexion, in that re- 
spect being different from her pale mother. The 
contrast of ebon hair and brows with the clear rose 
and white of her complexion was very dazzling. 
She had a beautiful figure, more goddess than 
woman. But that belongs to Sarah later. Let me 
turn now to her exquisite babyhood. 

II 

There was a day when little Sally, walking with 
her French nurses in the green and pleasant fields 


14 


THE GIPSY’S PREDICTION 


15 


near Fulham, encountered a gipsy woman. Sally 
was then but five years old. The mademoiselles 
would have swept Sally away, half- frightened of 
the dark and tragic-looking gipsy; but the woman, 
who had the air of a queen, passed them by haught- 
ily and fixed her regard on little Lady Sarah. So 
bright, so piercing was the regard, so fierce and 
splendid a person the gipsy woman, who indeed was 
a queen of her wild tribe, that any other child 
brought up as Lady Sarah had been would have 
bawled with terror. Not so Sally. 

Dropping the hand of her frightened bonne she 
skipped to the side of the gipsy woman, and looked 
up in her face as little abashed as could well be 
conceived; she thrust her hand in a friendly man- 
ner into the hand of the gipsy, saying in her French 
manner, for she knew but little English: “ B on- 
jour, Madame . II fait beau temps ce jow, n’est-ce 
pas?” 

“ That is prettily said, my pretty bird,” said the 
woman. “I know no furrin tongue except the 
Romany; but would you like your fortune told by 
poor Miriam, the gipsy? You know enough Eng- 
lish for that.” 

Sally looked at her, her head on one side, bright 
and reflective as the bird by whose name the woman 


16 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

had well called her. “ Oh, yes, yes/’ she said, “ I 
know enough English for that.” She spoke like a 
foreign child. 

The nurses, somewhat alarmed, for the place was 
lonely and the gipsy awe-inspiring, called to the 
child to come away: “Venez vite!” but Sally, 
shaking her dark hair, answered that: No, no, 
she would not till the dark lady had told her her 
fortune. 

The gipsy woman, leaning down, took the little 
hand in her own, and a shadow fell upon her as 
her eyes grew strange and dreamy. She looked 
in the child’s hand, and while she held it, she 
produced a crystal ball and gazed in it; and she 
shuffled a pack of cards, giving them to Sally to 
cut ; and at last she spoke. 

“ There is shadow first, my pretty one,” she said ; 
“ and a great sorrow. But afterward there will 
be joy; and there will be much love; and the little 
dark head may wear a crown if it will. There will 
be much liking but only one love.” 

Having got so far she looked in the crystal ball 
and her face was very troubled. Suddenly she 
bent and kissed the little hand, the lines of which 
she had been studying. 

“ There will be a fair evening, my beauty,” she 


THE GIPSY’S PREDICTION 


17 

said ; “ a fair evening and a brave husband and 
brave sons. And their mother will be a proud 
woman. She who might rule England and will 
not, will yet be the queen of a happy home and a 
husband’s heart; and she will be a great woman 
for her country, for she will be the mother of a race 
of great fighting men. That is all, my bonny little 
sweetheart — the clouds breaking up in the west 
and a calm evening and a quiet night. And my 
little lady, the Queen of Hearts, I see no more than 
that.” 

With that, bidding the nurses, who did not 
understand a word she said, take home their little 
lady, because the mist was coming up from the 
water-meadows that made lovely the banks of the 
river with melilot and purple lady-fingers and the 
water-avens and such plants as love an oozy slime 
for their roots, she disappeared in the direction of 
Hammersmith. 


Ill 

A few months later Sarah’s beloved father, the 
Duke of Richmond, lay dying. 

Sally, the youngest of the flock, had been carried 
away to Holland House at Kensington by her eldest 
sister, Lady Caroline Fox; and since a gloom lay 


1 8 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


over the great house, and no one had time to attend 
to a little girl, she crept within the big doll’s house 
in the nursery, and sat, with her spaniel on her lap, 
wondering why it was that she must be taken away 
from her dearest mama and papa, and why 
everybody went about with such miserable faces, 
and why the maids cried. 

The great house seemed to echo with emptiness 
from garret to basement; the very birds were still 
in the gardens that lay smiling outside in the sun. 
Sally did not know at all what was befalling her; 
but the solitude and the manner in which she was 
brushed aside by her elders depressed her spirits. 
In the doll’s house she was safe from being pushed 
on one side, and she could weep a few tears if she 
would into Beau’s silky coat and no one would ask 
her as a maid had done yesterday, with the sharp- 
ness of grief in her manner, what she was crying 
for, adding a sour prophecy that by and by her 
little ladyship would have plenty to cry for. 

Sally must have fallen asleep in the doll’s house, 
for she was awakened by the sound of a bell tolling 
somewhere ; and Beau was licking her face and im- 
ploring her to wake up and release him from the 
thraldom of the doll’s house and to remember that 
he had had no dinner, and that it was now about 


THE GIPSY’S PREDICTION 


19 


five o’clock of the afternoon. Sally was hungry 
too. At five and a half the pangs of hunger are 
apt to be insistent; she was cramped in the doll’s 
house, too, being rather a bigger doll than it was 
built for, so that if she inhabited it it must be in a 
cramped position. 


IV 

She pushed open the movable front of the doll’s 
house, and Beau scampered out into the wide 
nursery. There was not a sound of habitation as 
Sally came forth to join him. The whole suite of 
nurseries lay empty of movement except for the 
dancing of the shadows of leaves on the floor and 
the wind that came in and blew the curtains about 
and rustled the leaves of a picture-book which lay 
open where Sally had flung it. Where was made- 
moiselle, where was Justine the bonne , where were 
the servants, men and maids? 

Sally, preceded by Beau, stole from one nursery 
to the other, looking eagerly for some one she 
knew, for she had begun to tire of her own com- 
pany. There was not a soul. Her tears were on 
the point of flowing again, for the loneliness, and 
the jarring bell outside that reminded her uncom- 
fortably of how she had missed her mama and 


20 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


papa for quite a long time, when she discovered 
her dinner set out on a table — a dinner of bread 
and milk and some apples which were the thought 
of a young maid who came from Canterbury way, 
and had brought some Kentish codlings with her in 
her box. 

Sally ate her dinner, sharing the bread and milk 
with Beau, the two supping from the same spoon; 
and when Beau was greedy and would not wait his 
turn Sally rapped him seriously on the head with 
her spoon, telling him to keep his place and that 
greediness was a shameful thing in man or beast. 

The meal over she looked for something to do. 
There was a blackbird singing outside the window 
on the bough of a tree. He had sung right through 
the meal, and he had kept watching the proceed- 
ings of Sally and Beau, his head cocked on one 
side as though he were vastly curious about them. 
She was quite sure he was saying something, but 
for a while she could not make out what it was 
because of the tolling of the bell, which seemed 
heavily to oppress her little heart. But at last she 
thought she understood. The blackbird kept sing- 
ing over and over, u Come out ! Come out ! Come 
out!” 

Now to some out consorted very well with Sally’s 


THE GIPSY’S PREDICTION 


21 


mood. She was always a little rebel, and it pleased 
her far more to run in the sunny glades of the 
park alone with Beau rather than with mademoiselle 
or Justine, or to walk sedately with her grown-up 
sister Caroline and Mr. Fox. She had never been 
permitted to run about alone even in the park, but 
she had had her escapades while the nurses talked 
with the gardeners and the park-keepers and one 
another. 

She had once escaped and climbed a tree close 
to the park walls and had looked out into a wide 
park beyond, in the midst of which rose the Palace 
of Kensington, which was the King’s house. On 
that occasion she had had an adventure, for she had 
seen an elderly gentleman in a bag wig and a 
cocked hat, with a bright star in the lapel of his 
lace-trimmed coat, and he was walking and talking 
with a very mountain of a lady. 

What does Sally do but call out in her highest 
pipe : “ Bonjour, Monsieur le Roi! ” and then be- 

fore the gentleman could do more than exclaim: 
“ Ach, Gott!” before the lady could swing herself 
slowly round, like a boat tacking, in the direction 
of the voice, Sally had fallen from her bough and 
was invisible. 

She had often wanted to peep over that wall 


22 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


again. She had liked the King’s red face and his 
comfortable homely figure. Caroline and Mr. Fox 
had been away now for several days. Sally 
couldn’t tell how many days, because a day was so 
enormously long to her that a succession of such 
spreading hours could not possibly be counted over 
in her little brain. Mademoiselle and Justine had 
forgotten her. Sally had a faint sense of injury 
about that. Her toilet had been made somewhat 
carelessly of late; she had had to tie strings and 
fasten buttons for herself and Justine had been 
sharp with her. 

Her heart sprang up at the thought of what a 
frolic it would be to get away from the great empty- 
feeling house out into the park, with its many de- 
lights. She was yet stiff from her cramped attitude 
in the doll’s house. It would be good to run on 
the soft velvety grass which was whitened all over 
with daisies; and perhaps the blackbird would play 
with her as well as Beau if once she was out-of- 
doors. He was certainly saying, “ Come out ! 
Come out! Come out!” and beginning to flutter 
up and down in a growing impatience because she 
delayed. 


THE GIPSY’S PREDICTION 


23 


V 

All the corridors and passages in the house were 
drenched in sun as Sally and Beau went down the 
stairs. The doors of the rooms stood open as Sally 
passed and there was no stir of life in them. The 
house might have been a house of the dead, for all 
that it was so bright with sunshine and the gardens 
outside gay with flowers. The loneliness chilled 
Sally’s little heart; she remembered how Beau had 
howled in the night and frightened her; the sound 
of the bell, she knew not why, seemed to set a 
great black wing between the sun and the world, to 
cast a shadow over the pleasant gardens, despite 
the shining of the sun and the gaiety of the flower- 
beds and the sparkle of the water in the fountains. 

Not a soul in the house! The servants were in 
their quarters, perhaps, but they were at such a 
distance, down such remote corridors and twisting 
staircases that Sally did not know the way. She 
did not particularly want to see the servants, unless 
it might be Kentish Betsy. She wanted, indeed, not 
to see them. Perhaps the bell would not be so 
alarming and depressing if one were outside the 
house. She supposed it was to call people to church. 
Sally had been to church and had found it less de- 


24 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


pressing than most people since she had gone to 
sleep; but she had awakened in terror to a thunder- 
ous voice overhead and a pointing finger which 
seemed to be directed at her and a fierce face some- 
where in the gloom. She had no wish to go to 
church again. She hurried out of the house by 
the open hall door, dreading now that mademoiselle 
or Justine should remember and intercept her. 

The very blackbird, or at least she thought it 
was he, was walking about prettily on the velvety 
sward between the flower-beds. As Sally and Beau 
came running toward him he fluttered a little way 
ahead, looking back at them, and then made a short 
flight. So he really did mean to play with Sally. 
Anyhow, he led her a fine dance, in which she clean 
forgot the tolling of the bell. She forgot every- 
thing but that the day was fine and the sun shin- 
ing, and that it was good to be skipping along 
under the dancing leaves, with a blackbird for play- 
mate since Beau had had these few days past a 
depression of his spirits. 

The bluebells were all coming out under the trees 
where there had been daffodils. They, too, danced 
prettily and stood like so many shining fairies — 
a whole cloud of fairies where the wood thickened 
and was dark. Sally forgot the blackbird and be- 


THE GIPSY’S PREDICTION 


25 


gan to gather the bluebells. She had her arms full 
of them when she remembered the blackbird. Sud- 
denly she saw the wall before her and knew it for 
the wall over which she had looked one day; there 
was a little gate in the wall almost hidden by the 
ivy which hung over it; the gate was slightly ajar. 


CHAPTER III 


SALLY HAS A FROLIC WITH THE KING 

I 

H ERE was an adventure indeed. When Sally 
had climbed the bough on that other day she 
might have got right on to the wall that separated 
her brother Fox’s house from the King’s palace; but 
it would have been a great drop down the other 
side. She was quite sure the blackbird had guided 
her to the door in the wall. It was just such a 
thing as a blackbird would delight in doing. Al- 
ready Sally had had some of Monsieur Perrault’s 
fairy tales read to her by mademoiselle, and she 
knew how friendly birds and beasts could be with 
men. 

The blackbird had flown away; she had forgot- 
ten him for the bluebells ; but he had led her straight 
to the spot where the forgotten gate stood ajar be- 
tween her and the King’s palace. She wanted 
to see the King again ; to come dancing up to him 
and say: “ Bon jour, Monsieur le Roi ?” and drop 
a curtsey prettily, as she had been taught to do. 
26 


SALLY HAS A FROLIC 


27 


The mountainous lady might be there, but the 
thought did not daunt her. Fat people were gen- 
erally good-natured in her experience; indeed, all 
Sally’s world had smiled on her hitherto, a fact 
which had not prepared her for the absence of 
mademoiselle and Justine and the sharpness of the 
servants, except Kentish Betsy, these last few days 
when Lady Caroline was away and they did as they 
liked. Sally was dimly aware that there was some- 
thing in the sharpness that was half-tenderness. 

She scraped through the thorns and briers that 
had nearly closed the gateway, and emerged tri- 
umphantly on the other side of the wall. Beau fol- 
lowed loyally, though wearing an air of uneasiness, 
and looking back over his shoulder as he followed 
her to see if any one human would come to restrain 
this wild and precious child. Since no one would 
come he must, of course, follow her; but it was a 
dispirited Beau that came creeping after Sally, his 
tail down, as though he were guilty of some enor- 
mity; or perhaps could not cast off the depression 
of the bell as easily as Sally had done. 

There was a herd of deer feeding in the park. 
Some of them had branching antlers, while others, 
the does, with the fawns running by them, had 
no horns, but looked at Sally as she came dancing 


28 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


over the grass, with beautiful large eyes full of a 
mild gentleness as though they pitied the child. 
Sally dropped a curtsey to the greatest deer of all 
and pirouetted before him. Fortunately it was not 
a time of year when the stags are dangerous: per- 
haps even if it was this great lord of the herd would 
have had the magnanimity to spare Sally, because 
she was little and wild and lovely, and thought all 
the world to be her friend. 

They met various other creatures on the way. 
The King’s peacock trailed his splendors on the 
terrace as they approached the palace ; and the 
King’s mastiffs bayed far off, as though they would 
have torn the child and Beau to pieces, but bound- 
ing up to Sally, they only licked her hands held 
out to caress them^ and slavered on her with their 
great hanging jaws, taking no notice at all of Beau, 
who had given himself up for lost. 

II 

The young sentry in the courtyard of the palace 
looked in amazement at Sally and Beau. He was 
not long up from the woods and fields of Sussex; 
and he thought Sally, in her kerchief of white and 
gold over her stuff petticoat of green, must be a 
fairy or perhaps a daisy come to life. Before he 


SALLY HAS A FROLIC 


29 


could gather his wits to challenge such a thing, 
Sally and Beau had run by him and in at the open 
door of the palace, where the King’s butler sat in 
his big chair between the pillars of black and white 
marble, fast asleep. 

Another child might have thought him the King; 
not Sally, who was too used to fine feathers to be 
deceived 6y the liveries of royal red and gold. 

She ran past the sleeping beauty in the chair. 
His mouth was open; he snored prodigiously and 
his fat head waggled on his fat chest; his hands 
were lightly crossed on a mountain of stomach. 

His snores followed Sally and Beau as they went 
up the marble steps, at the head of which was a 
picture of a handsome boy standing by his white 
pony, clad in a riding-suit of Lincoln green. He 
looked very proud and withal honest and simple. 
It was a newly-painted portrait of the Prince of 
Wales’s eldest son, who in time must come to be 
King of England, and, according to rumor, was 
likely to make a better King than ever his father 
would if he should succeed. 

Sally stood a second to glance at the engaging 
picture of the boy before going on down the cor- 
ridor. She had quite forgotten the bell by this 
time; a spirit of mischief had awakened in her, so 


30 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


that seeing an amazed footman approach her from 
the distant end of the long corridor, she turned and 
took one at right angles, dancing along it and 
laughing to herself as she ran, determined not to 
be caught up by the footman till she had explored 
further. 

As she neared the end of the corridor she saw 
that a door stood open, but she could see nothing 
beyond it because of the great screens of Spanish 
leather, with golden peacocks upon them. Within 
the doors, she was suddenly enveloped in the most 
delicious fragrance. She seemed to be drenched 
in roses, so that she looked about her wonderingly, 
half expecting to find the corridor a bower of roses; 
but there was nothing to explain that extraordinary 
sweetness. The paneled dark walls were hung 
with portraits and had cupboards against them 
filled with beautiful china and silver; statues of 
white marble gleamed from recesses in the walls; 
but there was absolutely nothing to explain the pres- 
ence of the perfume of roses. 

Standing still in her amazement she had all but 
been caught by the footman, who had tracked her 
on her adventurous career. She would have been 
quite caught, and the adventure at an end, for his 
feet on the deep carpets made no sound, had not 


SALLY HAS A FROLIC. 


31 


Beau growled and made her turn about. She 
laughed as she escaped the clutching fingers. Her 
laugh was a thing of joy; it was high and sweet, 
like the song of a bird. She laughed as she darted 
from under the ogreish hand held out to seize her, 
and fled into the room of the open door, running 
around the screens and across the wide expanse of 
polished floor toward the two persons the room 
contained. 

Ill 

Now Sally was in the thick of the roses, though 
the origin of the delicious scent was as mysterious 
as ever. There was an old gentleman sitting in a 
gilt chair in front of a marble basin. He had 
apparently been having his head washed, for his 
person was enveloped in towels, and a little man 
who stood behind him was drying his head in other 
towels of fine lace-trimmed damask. Facing him 
behind the basin stood a big bottle adorned with 
gold, full of a colorless liquid, and on the bottle 
was written in gold letters “ Water of Roses”; 
but that told nothing at all to Sally, who did not 
yet know her letters. 

She recognized the old gentleman at once for 
the one she had seen in the chestnut walk. She 


32 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


was not at all afraid of him, although his face was 
redder than ever from having had his head held 
over the basin. Some children might have thought 
the red face and the bristling eyebrows rather fierce. 
Sally only thought it was funny to see the King 
without his wig; the bullet-head covered with short 
grizzling hair had a most humorous effect to her 
mind. 

“ Bonj our. Monsieur le Roi,** she said, her face 
dimpling. “ Aimeriez-vous vous laver la tetef La 
mienne a ete lavee de temps en temps, mens Jus- 
tine tire mes cheveux et me fait pleurer. Vos chav - 
eux sont si drdles et courts, qu’on ne pent pas les 
tirer” 

“ Donner und Blitzen ! ” said the Victor of Det- 
tingen. “ Where haf you gome from, you leedle 

girl?” 

" Par dessus le mur, Monsieur le Roi ,** said 
Sally, enjoying herself immensely. 

“ Oh, over der vail. And you half gome to see 
der King haf his head washed?” 

(< Naturellement, je ne savais pas qu’on vous 
lavait la tetef* said Sally. “ Je vous ai vu l* autre 
jour derns Vallee des chataigniers avec une dame tres 
gr . . .” Sally pulled herself up on the point of 
calling the lady fat. She had been told not to make 


SALLY HAS A FROLIC 


33 


personal remarks. " Une dame ” she repeated with 
emphasis, in order to assure herself and everybody 
else that she had not meant to say “ fat.” “ J’ at 
su que vous etiez le rot a cause de la belle etoile 
que vous portiez” 

“ A ch! you were den the schild that called * B on- 
jour, Monsieur le Roi!’” Sally did not find it 
very easy to follow him. English was a difficulty 
to her and the King’s English was very bad. “ I 
was sure I heard it — so! Bud de Gountess of 
Yarmudt she said it was no schild, but de black- 
birds. How do you gome in my balace, you 
schild?” 

He shook his head at Sally with a pretended se- 
verity, and Sally laughed again her high ringing 
laugh. The old gentleman with his wig, with his 
shining red face, and his comical speech, touched 
her sense of humor. But she liked him im- 
mensely. His beetling brows did not deceive her, 
and he was so clean and sweet with the scent of 
roses. 

“ You laugh at der King, you leedle girl,” he 
said, shaking his head and seeming to blow clouds 
of the delicious incense from him with every move- 
ment. “ I do nod know how you goom in my 
balace; but I vill chase you. Is my head dry, Du- 


34 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


pont? I vill chase the naughdy schild dat laughs 
ad der King.” 

Sally was delighted. She had had no expecta- 
tion of such a frolic. 

“ Vous ne ponrriez pas m’attraper, Monsieur le 
Roi” she said, running away from him and slip- 
ping round a screen. 

“ Den I vill try,” returned the monarch, cutting 
short his toilet. “ I vill dry, you leedle girl, and 
ven I haf caught you I vill giss you. Ach, I vill 
gobble you opp ! ” 

Sally did not feel a bit afraid, although she felt 
that curious excitement which in children is half 
terror and half delight, which so easily turns laugh- 
ter into weeping. 


IV 

There began a most delightful frolic. The Palace 
of Kensington had been very quiet when Sally en- 
tered it, as quiet as the palace of the Sleeping 
Beauty or the great red house beyond the walls. 
The single toll of the bell still floated in at the open 
windows, but Sally had forgotten about the bell. 
She went dancing like a sunbeam over the wide 
polished floor. She sped in and out among the 
furniture. The King followed her, panting and 


SALLY HAS A FROLIC 


35 


laughing. He still had a towel about his shoulders 
which Sally imagined to herself as the mantle of 
the giant. 

“Ach, you Yacobide!” the King said, bursting 
with laughter, “you vill kill der King. You vill 
be hanged for high treason. I vill gatch you, if 
I haf to die for id. Ach, you vairy, you leedle 
imp ... ! ” 

Sally danced out into the corridor, through an- 
other open door and another. She was in a suite 
of drawing-rooms of apparently endless perspective. 
There were many mirrors. The rooms were full 
of dancing Sallies and funny old kings in pursuit 
with towels about their shoulders. 

Beau followed miserably. He just kept out of 
Sally’s way as she fled hither and thither. When 
the toll of the bell came at intervals Beau shivered 
and lifted his head as though to howl. 

At last, in the last drawing-room of all, from 
which there was no exit, Sally crept under a sofa. 
The King went looking for her in likely and un- 
likely places, breathless, and still laughing. Sally 
would have eluded him, dancing out from the cul- 
de-sac, under his hand, between his straddling legs, 
but for Beau, who betrayed her hiding-place by 
sitting down and whining beside the sofa. 


3<3 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ I haf gott you, leedle girl/' said the ogre, his 
hand closing on Sally’s hair. He drew her out 
ever so gently, considering that he was an ogre. 
“ You are my brisoner. Vat shall ve do vid her, 
Dupont ? ” 

The valet had followed quietly, and seemed to 
be enjoying the frolic as much as the King. 

“ Have you thought whose child she is. Your 
Majesty?” asked Dupont; but the King did not 
hear him. His eye had fallen on a magnificent ori- 
ental jar, one of a pair as big as those in which 
the Forty Thieves hid themselves in the story of 
Ali Baba. 

“ You are my brisoner and I shall bud you in 
brison, you leedle girl, dat gomes ofer der vail to 
blay dricks on der King.” 

The King lifted Sally, dropped her into one of 
the jars and put on the lid. Sally found herself 
sinking into something soft and sweet and spicy. 
The jar was half full of pot-pourri, made from the 
famous recipe of Mrs. Chambers, Queen Anne’s 
waiting-woman. 

“Your Majesty, the child will cry. She will be 
terrified,” said Dupont, coming a little nearer, his 
finger-tips laid softly together and his little keen 
face showing sharp anxiety. 


SALLY HAS A FROLIC 


37 


There was not a sound from the jar. 

“ She vill not gry, Dupont,” the King said, watch- 
ing the jar, nevertheless, with an air of some mis- 
giving. “ She is nod der kind to gry. She vill 
laugh; you vill see, Dupont, she vill laugh.” 

“ There is no air in the jar, Your Majesty,” said 
Dupont, visibly anxious. 

“ Ach, dere is a hole in der lid. She vill not 
smoder, der schild.” 

Suddenly from the depths of the jar came Sally's 
voice, singing — 

“ ‘ Malbrouck s’en va-t-en guerre ’ ” 

The two men looked at each other. Sally ended 
in a burst of laughter. 

“ I vish my grandson, George, vas merry like 
her,” said the King. “ He is doo solemn.” 

He lifted the lid off the jar, picked out Sally and 
mouted her on his shoulder. 

“You vill haf dinner vith der King,” he said. 
“ Vere is der Gountess of Yarmudt, Dupont? She 
must see der leedle girl from ofer the vail dat said : 
f Bon jour, Monsieur le Roi! * ” 

V 

He turned toward the door. Sally, insuppres- 
sible, mounted the King’s back to his shoulders, 


38 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


and sat with her two fat legs about his neck, her 
arms clasping his head. Not an attitude that con- 
duced to speed or ease of progress. She encouraged 
her steed by smacking his cheek now and again 
or pinching his ear while she sat hunched up on his 
shoulders. 

Half-way down the long drawing-rooms the 
progress was arrested. 

“ His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and 
His Royal Highness Prince George,” shouted a 
voice, the voice of a footman, made big and rolling 
by the sense of importance. 

Sally could see them coming quite three rooms 
off, a pale gentleman, with a thin sneering face, 
whom Sally instinctively disliked, a handsome seri- 
ous boy, following in his wake. 

She had no idea of the discomfort of her steed, 
whose face had suddenly turned a deep purple. 
But she allowed herself to be dislodged easily, the 
King stooping to let her alight on a big sofa. He 
stood where he was without advancing, and the 
child, watching him, had an idea that he stiffened. 
She could see his face in a mirror, and the expres- 
sion was frowning, not in the least as he had looked 
when he smiled at her. 

“So — Frederick !” he said in a gruff voice. 


SALLY HAS A FROLIC 


39 


“ Have we been interrupting a game?” the pale 
gentleman asked with a manner suavely contemp- 
tuous. He was dressed in the height of elegance, 
whereas the King, under his towels, wore a shabby 
soldier’s coat ; his accent, though German, was 
much less pronounced than the King’s. 

“ What a pretty little girl ! ” said the handsome 
boy, coming forward and staring at Sally. 

“ I might perhaps come at another moment, Your 
Majesty,” the thin sneering voice went on. “ But 
affairs of state — the death of the poor Duke of 
Richmond — ” 

Suddenly Sally screamed. Her little hands be- 
gan to beat the air. 

“ Confound that bell ! ” said the pale gentleman, 
still smiling. “We do not need it to remind us. 
What is the matter with the little girl?” 

The King turned and stared at Sally. A curious 
pallor came over the dark-red flush which he had 
worn since the Prince of Wales had come upon the 
scene. 

“ It vill be his leedle girl,” he said. “ She said 
she game ofer der vail. Gott in Himmel, I might 
haf known.” 

The boy had put his arm round Sally with a 
timid serious air of grief and sympathy. 


40 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


But after all it was the King who lifted her up 
from the couch, where she sat screaming and fight- 
ing the air. 

“ Dis is no man’s vork,” he said. “ Go for de 
Gountess, Dupont. Dell de Gountess she is to come 
at vonce.” 

All during her life afterward Sally was to asso- 
ciate the scent of roses with an overwhelming hor- 
ror and disaster, and yet with a ray of light in it, 
as from some one who was kind and who tried 
vainly to comfort her. 


CHAPTER IV 

IN WHICH SALLY MAY BE QUEEN 

I 

T HE next meeting between Sally and the boy 
who was to be King of England did not take 
place for nearly ten years. Poor Sally was barely 
five and a half when her mother died — not being 
able to endure life without the husband she loved so 
passionately. Sally had spent the years following 
her orphanhood in Ireland under the care of her 
sister Kildare, and had become something of a wild 
Irish girl, the natural frolicsomeness and freedom 
of her character being developed in that country 
of which a soft wildness is the most tender char- 
acteristic. During those years she had the com- 
panionship of her sister Louisa, the sweetest by 
common consent of this lovely bunch of sisters, if 
not the cleverest and most fascinating. Indeed, in 
Lady Louisa heart dominated all else. There 
could be no imaginable circumstance, says Sally, 
in which Louisa’s sisterly love could not be trusted, 
little knowing when she said it how warm a breast, 
41 


42 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

how kind a heart she would have to lean upon at a 
time when many doors would be closed against 
her. 

At the age of fifteen she has returned to her sis- 
ter Holland in London, and she goes to court. In 
the year 1760 a young lady was grown-up at fif- 
teen, passee at twenty-five, and in the sear and yel- 
low at thirty. How the forty or fifty years 
following were apportioned, unless there was some 
vast desert of middle-age, I know not. 

Sally is come to court by the King’s command, 
he having heard that his little playmate is over the 
wall at Holland House. Contemporary chron- 
iclers say that she is in the very prime and flower 
of her beauty — at fifteen years old. 

She is introduced into the royal circle. The 
King gives her a great smacking kiss before all the 
courtiers. 

“ Goom,” he said, “ you vill sing me Malbrouck. 
Sing it vonce again, mein Kind . Ach, the leedle 
sweet voice of id and the varm feel of id aboud 
my neck. That vas a schild. You haf not the 
vildness nor de blayfulness now, Lady Sarah.” 

Poor Sally flushed up to her hair. The court- 
iers stared. Some tittered. 

“ You vill goom vid me. I vill shqw you the 


43 


SALLY MAY BE QUEEN 

char vere you vas hidden, vere you sing Malbrouck. 
Ach, Gott, vhy vill you grow oop?” 

Sally drew back, blushing painfully. 

“ Gott in Himmel! ” said the King tragically. 
“ She vas begome stupid, dis ding of quicksilver.” 

II 

It was a most awkward moment for Sally. 
Tears filled her eyes. The circle seemed to close in 
nearer the King, leaving her outside. 

She had led the life of a child in Ireland. She 
was hardly older for all her fifteen years than the 
latest baby in her sister Kildare’s rapidly filling 
nursery. She had played with her pets, her dogs 
and cats, her squirrel, her pet lamb, her pony; the 
sea-gull who had been found by her after a winter 
storm with a broken leg, which she had put in 
splints and mended after a fashion. What had 
she to do with kings and courts? Her sister Hol- 
land was frowning as she talked with the Duke of 
Newcastle in an oriel. Sally wanted to go to her, 
to escape from the spot on which she stood. There 
were acres of polished floor to cross before she 
could escape. She wanted to get away out of this 
dreadful palace, away from this alarming old man 
who had called her stupid. She wanted to run. 


44 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


run, anywhere out of sight, but for preference back 
to Holland House. She and her sister Louisa still 
had their rooms at the top of the house, looking 
away over the trees to the river and the distant 
Surrey hills. She wanted to hide her face, to cry 
out her mortification, to be alone except for a 
friendly dog. Even her sister Louisa’s tender sym- 
pathy would hurt; even the eyes of her nephew 
Charles James Fox, who was scarce younger than 
herself, and with whom she had struck up an al- 
liance since her return from Ireland. 

She blinked. The tears were horribly near to 
running down her cheeks. She looked wildly from 
one side to another. Her feet felt glued to the 
space of polished floor on which she stood. How 
was she ever to escape — across those great vistas 
of rooms into the blessed peace of the park out- 
side? 

Some one approached her. She did not recognize 
him for the young prince who had been watching 
her with an anxious and sorry gaze. He drew her 
arm through his and led her across the room. Her 
eyes were too blinded with tears to see the expres- 
sion in his. 

Very gently, very carefully, he led her through 
the long suite of rooms, and by a private stair out 


45 


SALLY MAY BE QUEEN 

into the gardens. They went down the long 
walk side by side. At the round pond he 
stopped. 

“ Shall we feed the water- fowl ? ” he asked. 

He had not said a single word on the subject of 
Sally’s discomfiture. 


Ill 

Now when it was a question of creatures the 
matter became irresistible to Sally. The inclina- 
tion to run home to Holland House had quite left 
her. It was a beautiful day of summer. There 
was a whole fleet of swans and other beautiful 
birds sailing on the waters of the round pond. 
They went to a cottage for bread to feed them; 
and only then did Sally realize that her companion 
was the Prince of Wales. 

She forgot to be shy of him in the joy of feeding 
the water-fowl. They were accustomed to being 
fed, and they came and gobbled out of her hands 
and allowed her to stroke their plumage while they 
ate. The swans sailed like a beautiful flock of 
boats in the sunlight. In their wake was a little 
duck, a greedy gobbling creature with a scarlet 
bill and a head like a jewel. They disturbed the 
moored fleet of water-lilies upon the pond. Sheep 


46 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


bleated in the fields beyond the park. There was 
not a break in the bird-singing. The leaves were 
just growing dark and the trees assuming the maj- 
esty which is theirs in high summer. 

“ Oh, it is perfect, perfect ! ” cried Sally, clapping 
her hands. "Look at that swan! Is it not the 
most beautiful creature on earth ? ” 

“ I know one more beautiful,” responded the 
young prince, turning on her his serious enamored 
gaze. 


IV 

Sally ran away from the prince after that. She 
thought what he had said rather silly. Although 
she was fifteen and a grown-up young lady the 
woman was not yet awake in her. She thought it 
a great pity the prince could not be just a boy — a 
dear boy, like Charles Fox, who was so gay and 
lovable and spirited and generous. She liked him 
because he had been sorry for her, and had helped 
her to escape from that dreadful room and the 
presence of that rude old ogre, his grandfather. 
She was sorry, too, that she had lost the kind riot- 
ous old playfellow of that dreadful day of roses 
long ago and had found an ogre instead. And now 
this boy who had come to her deliverance must 


SALLY MAY BE QUEEN 


4 7 


needs be silly. There was only one person Sally 
could have borne silliness from, and that was her 
cousin, William Gordon, for whom she had had an 
adoration all her life. William Gordon was never 
silly in the prince’s fashion: only Sally was ac- 
customed to feel that William, if he would, could 
compel her to do anything, or accept anything. 

However, Lord William was making the Grand 
Tour at this moment, and Sally only wanted her 
playfellows. Louisa hardly came under that de- 
scription. She was Sally’s elder by some years, 
already getting up to the middle age of twenty. 
Louisa was a person to go to when Sally got hurt 
or was in trouble or disgrace. The playfellows 
were Charles Fox — Stephen his brother was fat 
and placid: not a lively spirit like Charles — and 
Charles’s cousin, Lady Susan Fox-Strangways, a 
lively self-willed child, with a dear little shy face 
like a kitten. And, of course, there were the dear 
animals; and Sally’s reading and music and paint- 
ing. She had learned to play the harp in Ireland, 
and she could bring out of the strings a wailing 
music that seemed the very soul of that beloved 
unhappy country. She had no time to be silly; 
and she really wished the prince would not be so 
particular, as she had heard her elders call it. 


4 8 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


V 

A little later Sally’s ogre is dead, and there is 
a new king. And now Sally is out of the nursery 
and schoolroom and goes to court, but is still 
more concerned with childish things than her uncle, 
Mr. Henry Fox, approves of. 

Within a very short time of the King’s acces- 
sion it was obvious to every one that his intentions 
and attentions to Lady Sarah were particular. The 
poor young King is fought for by Whigs and 
Tories. A mere boy, he is in the hands of strong 
men: Pitt, Lord Bute, the Duke of Newcastle. 
The parties seem as though they would tear him 
to pieces. At times he breaks away from his min- 
isters, showing that independence of thought and 
character which marked him during his long reign. 
He added to the formal address to his people, drawn 
up for him by his ministers : “ Born and educated 

in this country, I glory in the name of Briton.” 

Lady Susan Fox-Strangways says that if she 
were the King she should delight in shocking the 
ministers. Sally agrees with her half-heartedly. 
She is a little afraid of the direction the King’s 
shocking his ministers may take. 

Henry Fox would very much like a hand in the 


SALLY MAY BE QUEEN 


49 


game, although he professes virtue and is bitter 
about Pitt. He is very ambitious for the advance- 
ment oi his family. He has not yet received the 
peerage he covets. Why, with a niece on the throne 
of England, it will not be a beggarly peerage that 
will content him. 

He looks at Sally, and her beauty delights his 
eye. “ She is not easily described,” he says, “ ex-> 
cept by saying that she has the finest complexion, 
most beautiful hair, and prettiest person that ever 
was seen, with a sprightly and a fine air, a pretty 
mouth and remarkably fine teeth, and an excess of 
bloom in her cheeks ; but this is not describing her, 
for her great beauty is a peculiarity of countenance 
that made her at the same time different from and 
prettier than any other girl I ever saw.” 

VI 

The King's infatuation is plain to all. Mr. Fox 
stands in the background, smiles and rubs his hands 
together. The Duke of Newcastle is enraged. 
Mr. Pitt displays no feeling, but makes Sally a 
pretty speech when he meets her. The court stares 
as if it sat in a circle watching the King and Sally, 
who wishes uneasily that William Gordon would 
come back from his travels and take her part against 


50 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


all those who are pushing her in one direction, and 
that a direction she does not wish to take. 

She eludes the King, and will creep under the 
wing of a dowager when she goes to court. The 
King, though his looks are particular, does not at- 
tempt to force her conversation. He talks to her 
obliquely through Lady Susan, who is her insep- 
arable friend. 


VII 

It is Twelfth-night of the year following the 
King’s accession, and Sally, treating His Majesty 
as though he were any other agreeable boy, 
romps with him through the figures of “ Betty 
Blew,” a country dance she has brought from 
Ireland. 

The King, over-serious for his age, forgets for 
once to be anything but a boy, but presently he 
leads her into the tea-room and there begins a 
private conversation with her. He asked her about 
Ireland and my Lord and Lady Kildare; and he 
asks shyly which takes the lead, “ For,” says he, 
coloring very much, “ either husband or wife must 
take the lead.” 

“ Any man who allowed his wife to govern him 
would be a fool,” says Sally bluntly. Then she 


5i 


SALLY MAY BE QUEEN 

looks straight at the King. “For the matter of 
that, Your Majesty/’ she says, “ all the world says 
that you are governed by your mother.” 

The King blushes and laughs. 

“ Is not a mother the best governor for her 
child ? ” he asks. 

“ That may be so,” says Sally ; “ but a German 
woman can not be the best person to govern Eng- 
land.” 

Mr. Fox nearly swooned when he heard of this 
rashness of Sally’s, but said upon reflection, “ Since 
it has done no harm, it may do good.” He then 
pressed Sally to know what else took place in the 
conversation. 

“ He talked rather sillily,” said Sally. “ I did 
not like him so well later; at first I thought well 
of him because being King of England he did not 
disdain to be merry.” 

“ And what was it in his conversation which 
struck you as being silly, my dear sister?” Mr. Fox 
inquired blandly. 

“Why, he asked me,” said Sally, considering, 
“ whether I thought a King should be governed 
by his inclination or by reasons of state, and I 
answered him that it depended on the force of the 
inclination.” 


52 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ That was well said, my dear sister,” said Mr. 
Fox. “And what further?” 

“ He went on to say,” said Sally, trying to re- 
member, “that if it were a question of the choice 
of a queen, whether motives of policy should move 
him or his own heart, to which I replied that it de- 
pended on which was the strongest.” 

“ Spoken like the famous Signor Macchiavelli, 
the learned doctor of Florence,” said Mr. Fox. 

Sally liked to be approved and ransacked further 
in her pretty head. 

“ He asked me,” she said, “ if I did not think it 
would be an excellent idea to connect Holland 
House and Kensington Palace by a passage.” 

“ Good lord!” said Mr. Fox. 

The King said freely at that time that Lady 
Sarah was the most delightful creature in all the 
world, being so frank and free from guile. “ She 
would not tell me a white lie,” he said, “ although 
all the world is ready to tell me black ones.” 

VIII 

It is of a Thursday in March. Every one is 
aware of Sally and the King, who, nevertheless, 
leaves her sparkling like a jewel in the shade, to 


SALLY MAY BE QUEEN 53 

which she retreats from him, and approaches Lady 
Susan. 

“You are going into Somersetshire, 1 ” he says, 
with a lingering sidewise glance at Sally. “ When 
do you return ? ” 

“ Not before winter, Sir,” says Lady Susan, 
blushing all over her little sly face, as Sally loved 
to call it. 

The King, sighing heavily — 

“ Is there nothing will bring you back to town 
before the winter?” 

She : “ I do not know of anything, Sir.” 

He: “What? Not a coronation?” 

She (in a flutter) : “ Oh, Sir, I should certainly 

come to see that.” 

He : “ I hear it's very popular my having put it 

off.” 

Lady Susan finds nothing to say, only looks at 
her pretty feet. The next sentence makes her 
jump. 

“ Would it not be a much finer sight if there 
were a queen?” 

She (looking up) : “ That would depend, Sir.” 

He : “ Why, of course it would.” He smiles 

and is suddenly shy. “ I have had many applica- 


54 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


tions from abroad, but I don’t like them. I have 
none at home; I should like that better.” 

“ Oh, lord ! ” says Lady Susan to herself, look- 
ing the picture' of kittenish innocence, “ is the man 
going to fall into my arms for lack of Sally’s ? ” 
But she pretends to be very embarrassed and says 
nothing. 

The King bends and whispers in her ear. Every 
eye is upon them, although there is a feverish pre- 
tense of talking. 

“ What do you think of your friend? You know 
whom I mean. Don’t you think her fittest ? ” 

“ Think , Sir? ” repeated Lady Susan, sillily and 
all in a schoolgirl flutter. She is wishing he would 
address himself to Sally. Was ever woman in such 
manner wooed as by whispering in the pretty ear of 
a friend? 

“ I think none fitter,” he says in a loud voice, so 
that all the room hears. 

He then crosses the room to Sally, and with all 
his heart showing in his handsome young face, he 
says : “ Madam, pray ask your friend what I have 

been saying and make her tell you all.” 

He leans over Sally, trying to look into her 
averted eyes. 

“ Promise me,” he says. 


SALLY MAY BE QUEEN 


55 


“ I promise, Sir,” says Sally, feeling as though 
she must run into a mouse-hole to escape this amor- 
ous King. 


IX 

“ The worst of it is,” says Sally to her dearest 
Sue, “ the worst of it is the way they look at me 
when I return home. There is a new air about 
them as though they saw the crown on my head 
and I was no longer simple Sally. My brother 
Fox is the worst of them all. I have no taste for 
queenship. I am not yet grown up, though I go 
to court. I wish they would leave me to my ani- 
mals and my play. It is hateful to be treated with 
respect; and to think that I am watched by minis- 
ters as a cat watches a little, gentle furry mouse 
like my Sue. I wish I were back in Ireland where 
there was not this talk of marriage.” 

In a postscriptum she adds — these female 
friends wrote almost daily when they were not be- 
neath the one roof — 

“ William Gordon has returned. He sups with 
us o’ Saturday.” 


CHAPTER V 

THE TREE OF LOVE 

I 

S ALLY had acquired her great devotion to her 
cousin, Lord William Gordon, during a visit 
they had both paid to Carton, when she was but 
seven, and he, a tall boy at the College of Eton, had 
petted and played with her, allowing her to follow 
him about like his dog. 

At that time Sally had a trick of walking in her 
sleep, which caused a good deal of alarm to her rel- 
atives, and the maid who had her in charge was 
accustomed to sleep with her bed across the door 
leading to the nurseries, so that Sally could not es- 
cape without climbing over her and so awakening 
her. 

But one night she slept sounder than usual. She 
woke up in the dark hour preceding the early sum- 
mer dawn to the knowledge that something had 
happened, that some noise, the closing of a door 
perhaps, had awakened her from her sleep and to a 
great terror. 


56 


THE TREE OF LOVE 


57 


She jumped up. Sally’s bed was empty, but it 
was yet warm, showing that the child had not long 
left it. 

Now the girl had the wit not to alarm the house, 
for her grace the duchess was about to lie in with 
her sixth child. Instead, having put a garment 
upon her, she ran hurriedly to Lord William Gor- 
don’s room and awakened him. 

“ Her little ladyship is not in bed,” she said. 
“ I think ’twas the clang of the house-door awoke 
me. She will be out of the house and wandering 
over the country, poor lamb. If I found her I 
wouldn’t dare speak to her to break her sleep: but 
you could do it, for she’s mortal fond of your 
lordship.” 

“ I’ll follow you,” said the boy, springing from 
his bed. “ Have you got a lantern ? It’s very 
dark.” 

“ The day’ll soon break,” the woman returned. 
“ There’s a lantern in the stable-yard, but before I 
could get it the whole house would be awake, and 
her grace must not be alarmed. If we was to catch 
her up before she got far it would save all the vexa- 
tion. Is a poor girl to lose her place because she 
sleeps sound? There’s a trouble in the east. The 
day’ll soon be breakin’.” 


58 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


She was a true prophet. As they stole like con- 
spirators out of the house there was a trembling in 
the gray sky to eastward. For the time it was very 
dark. They could but follow the roadway with 
their feet as they went along, calling softly to the 
child. 

Presently they left the firm roadway and found 
their feet in the grass. It was drenched with heavy 
dews. The grass about their feet was like the 
plashing of rivers. 

“ God help her, poor lamb ! ” lamented the 
woman. “ She’ll get her death of cold. Och, 
wirrastrue what come over me at all to sleep so 
sound, barrin’ I was at my cousin Bridget’s wake 
last night. I did wrong to stale out an’ lave another 
in charge of the child, an’ I’m punished now. I 
don’t care if they do send me away as long as the 
child comes to no harm.” 

They had wandered for some time. The trem- 
bling in the east broke into a succession of pale 
streaks. A little glimmering of light came about 
them and showed them where they were. They 
were almost up against the high ivy-covered wall 
of an old churchyard, long disused, in which the 
people of the country sometimes buried their dead 
by stealth. 


THE TREE OF LOVE 


59 


William Gordon stopped with a baffled air. 

“ It is not likely she would come this way,” he 
said. “Let us turn back. We shall soon be able 
to see.’* 

Suddenly the most dreadful wail came from the 
churchyard, most sad and piercing, rising and fall- 
ing again. 

“ ’Tis the banshee!” cried the woman, clutching 
William Gordon’s arm, “ or it is the ghost of my 
poor cousin Bridget that was buried only yester- 
day. Oh, my Lord, come away before it happens 
again. Oh, glory be to God, what is it at all? It’s 
Bridget wants prayers, maybe, or some other mis- 
fortunate sowl. Come away out of it before any 
harm befalls us. The Cross o’ Christ between us 
and harm, isn’t it a dreadful sound?” 

She turned and ran, but William Gordon held his 
ground. The long lines were growing yellow in 
the east: a cock crowded from the village and was 
answered by the cocks at Carton: a bird twittered 
close at hand. Again the cry rang out. This time 
it had changed its note : there was blind terror in it. 
It was accompanied by a sound as though a gate 
were shaken vehemently. 

The boy who had been standing and peering 
through the now visible dusk leaped at the sound. 


6o 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


He sprang in its direction and found what he had 
expected to find, a little figure in a white nightgown, 
shaking the bars of the churchyard gate, now 
and again leaving off to utter the piercing wail 
which the boy felt to be so terrible that it must be 
stopped at all hazards. 

He could not tell if Sally were awake or asleep, 
and at that time there was a belief of fearful con- 
sequences if the sleep-walker should be awakened. 
He could not see if Sally's face showed the blank- 
ness of sleep, but his thought, from something 
strange and mechanical in those terrible cries, was 
that she was not wholly awake. It was the terror of 
sleep, not the terror of waking. 

If she should wake, he said to himself, in such 
a place, and mentally anathematized her nurse, 
whom he suspected of filling the child’s mind with 
terrors — if she should wake! 

“ I want to get out ! I want to get out ! ” said 
Sally, in a monotonous voice which persuaded him 
that she was asleep, although aware of his presence. 

r< You shall, little one,” he said in a manner of 
brisk cheerfulness, “ but you must not cry again.” 

He shook the gate, tried the handle, but it would 
no more yield to him than it had done to Sally. 
He looked about him for a stone. With a curi- 


THE TREE OF LOVE 


61 


ous air of obedience she stood meekly to one side, 
her head bent and the cloud of her dark hair falling 
about her shoulders. All around them was an eery 
obscurity. Old headstones thrust themselves above 
the long grass. An owl hooted in the tree above 
them, startling the boy. If she were to awake now, 
in this cold grayness, that was almost worse than 
the dark, it would be terrible. 

He found the stone he wanted, almost too big 
for him to handle, but his concern for his little 
playmate gave him strength. He made a furious 
onslaught on the rusty lock. It yielded. He 
pushed open the gate. 

He gave one glance at a heaped new-made grave. 
He caught a glimpse of something that grinned at 
him from the grass, a skull perhaps: such things 
were common enough in the old graveyard overfilled 
with dead. 

His heart was thumping in his side as he put a 
yery gentle arm about Sally. Suddenly she came 
awake with a cry. 

“ Where am I ? Where am I ? ” she asked. “ I 
have only my night-dress on and my feet are wet. 
Why am I out-of-doors like this?” 

She hid her face on his shoulder, and picking 
her up bodily, hie carried her away from the place 


62 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


before she was aware of her surroundings. His 
voice soothed her. She clung to him sobbing. She 
was drenched with the heavy dews. When they 
were well out into the park he stopped, put her 
down, took off his coat aiid wrapped her in it. 

It was a long time before Sally understood wHat 
it was from which William Gordon had saved her, 
but from that moment she had a most singular de- 
votion to him, adoring him with all her loyal little 
heart. 


II 

What passed at the Saturday night supper may 
be summed up in a brief note of Sally to her chere 
amie. 


" He is handsomer than ever, but his eyes looked 
at me as though I were a child still. They say he 
is desperately enamored of a beautiful Roman, 
the Marchesa Coronna. Oh, Sue, he has heard 
about the King. I am sure of it. I found him 
watching me with a strange look of interest during 
the supper. I am not to see him again for he goes 
to his father the duke in Scotland to-morrow.” 


Sally, being a baby, cried all night over her 


THE TREE OF LOVE 


6 3 


hero’s coldness. Being a baby she can not conceal 
her emotions ; and goes to court next day with red 
eyes and a sullen demeanor. She hides obstinately 
behind her Aunt Albemarle, but the King dislodges 
her at last. His eyes are very ardent and he goes 
straight to the point. He drops into the chair by 
Sally, takes her ribbon and plays with it, and leans 
so close to her that his breath is on her cheek. 
Being the King, he has no eye for the danger- 
signals in Sally’s stormy beauty. 

“ Have you seen your friend lately?” he asks in 
a low amorous voice. 

Sally, wishing he had been another, answers 
shortly, “Yes.” 

“ Has she told you what I said to her? ” 

“ Yes,” 

“ All?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Do you approve?” 

Sally says nothing, but looks black enough to 
cloud the sky of any young man in love. His 
Majesty gazes at her for a moment as though he 
can not believe his eyes, turns very red, and with a 
deep bow leaves her. 


6 4 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


III 

Sally is in disgrace. Her Uncle Fox will not 
look at her. Lady Caroline weeps. She has let- 
ters from Lord and Lady Kildare reproving her for 
her forwardness. Even her sister Louisa, on whose 
bosom she had been wont to lean, asks her tearfully 
what is amiss with His Majestey that she can not 
love him, seeing how much it would be for the 
good of the realm if Mr. Fox were to rule the King, 
and not Mr. Pitt and Lord Bute. 

Sally laughs in Louisa’s face. 

“ Our brother Fox is vastly mistaken,” she says, 
“ if he believes that anybody will long continue to 
rule that person. For the moment he is no more 
than a boy — Mon Dieu! how slow the creatures 
grow up as compared with us ! — and he submits a 
while to the rule of the German woman his mother. 
They say she and the ministers will pick a wife for 
him from Germany. I have no desire to play the 
queen. V raiment, I had much rather play with 
my creatures at home. There is Bino, my squirrel, 
who is sick. I think vastly more of whether Bino 
will get well than of His Majesty’s passion.” 

Sally cries at night, but it is not because of the 
King: and Wdliam Gordon has gone traveling 


THE TREE OF LOVE 65 

again. They say there is a magnet in Rome that 
draws him. 


IV 

Sally is changed. She has writ down, not once, 
but many times, that if there is a creature she de- 
tests it is the male flirt. Yet she competes with 
Lady Car Russell, the Duke of Bedford’s daughter, 
for Lord Newbattle, a handsome vain puppy who 
is spoilt by the women. 

Who knows but Sally has a design in her folly? 
She sets her cap at Newbattle, who is not the stuff, 
nor is any man whose heart is not preoccupied, to 
resist charming Sally when she sets her cap. Lord 
Newbattle is in a sense one of the family, his sister 
being Lady George Lennox, Sally’s sister-in-law. 
My Lady George plays into Lord Bute’s hands 
knowingly and unknowingly. She makes an as- 
signation for Sally and her brother in the park 
when the shades of evening are falling. Having 
led Sally into the snare, the perfidious woman de- 
parts, leaving, as she says, the lovers together. 

There is not a soul in the park. The gates are 
closed and the keepers gone to their houses. Sally 
is very angry. Lord Newbattle, dropping on his 
knees, swears that his only sin against her is that 


66 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


he adores her too much. He clasps her about the 
knees and hides his face in her petticoat. 

Sally does not know whether to box his ears or 
not. She is a little daunted by the place and the 
hour. Lord Newbattle pours out his passion in 
fervid language. The sheep-bells tinkle in the dark 
and the shadowy deer move through the glades. He 
implores pardon for the deception by which he has 
won this hour alone with his beloved. He is gentle, 
humble, propitiatory. He conveys delicately to 
Sally that Lady Car has said cruel and slighting 
things of her. Sally forgets to be angry with him 
because of her anger against her rival: she is too 
generous, too honest with herself not to exonerate 
him. She has set her cap at him : sought to detach 
him from Lady Car, between whom and herself 
there is an antipathy: if he has presumed it is her 
fault. 

And — after all — William Gordon had barely 
looked at her. His eyes had been too full of an- 
other woman. He had been distrait, abstracted. 
After all it was a romantic thing, an adventure, to 
have a fine, handsome young gentleman at one’s 
feet, with the night gathering over the park. 

" If you will take me home,” she says, “ I will for- 
give this unwarrantable — ” 


THE TREE OF LOVE 


67 


“ My dearest angel ! ” he cries, leaping to his 
feet: “then you are mine; and the project my 
father entertains for a marriage with Lady Caro- 
line Russell is at an end. I will tell him so this very 
night.” 

He kisses Sally’s hands with a passionate tender- 
ness. She is obliged to him that he does no more; 
after all, she is not in love with Newbattle, but only 
playing at being in love, because William Gordon 
has looked at her without seeing her and she detests 
Lady Car. 

V 

He gives her his arm with an exaggerated re- 
spect. “ You must not be angry with my sister,” 
he says : “ she knows how I adore you, and she de- 
tests the Russells. There is but to call up a gate- 
keeper to release us. I am yours to the last 
moment of life to command me.” 

Sally, tossed to and fro, is more than a little out 
of love with her adventure. She has no idea of 
how yielding is her attitude. There is none to see, 
except the deer and the sheep. She does not ob- 
serve that a couple of figures pass by them close at 
hand, His Majesty and Lord Bute, making a short 
cut from St. James’s to Kensington Palace. 


68 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ A strange hour and place for a meeting,” said 
His Majesty. 

Lord Bute answered him in a shocked voice. 

“ Did Your Majesty see who the lady was?” he 
asked. “ She reminded me — ” 

The King made no reply. 

“ It was a strange likeness,” said my Lord Bute ; 
“ but, of course, it could not have been — ” 

VI 

Sally took a whole three days to make up her 
mind that she did not desire to be Lady Newbattle. 

“ I have one standard,” she confided to her jour- 
nal, “ by which I must judge all men. Though 
W. G. is cold to me, he represents for me all of 
manly virtue and courage the world possesses. By 
him the K fails to charm and my Lord New- 

battle reveals himself a popinjay.” 

She had written to Lord Newbattle declining his 
addresses. She is drying the letter with her sand- 
box when a letter is handed to her, with the crest 
of Lord Newbattle’s family on the seal. 

“ I wish,” thinks Sally, “ that I had not led this 
unhappy nobleman to believe that my heart could 
be interested in the matter of his suit. Pauvre 
enfant! je ne veux pas qu’il souffre ! I would not 


THE TREE OF LOVE 69 

hurt a fly. His folly and vanity make no excuse 
for the cruelty with which I have led him on.” 

She breaks the seal with a half-curious distaste. 
She is sick of men and lovers. Poor wretch! 
Poor Newbattle! She is nauseated in advance at 
the prospect of his passionate outpourings. 

Sally gasps. Her breath is taken away. 
Wretch! Popinjay! Villain ! 

Lord Newbattle’ s epistle declines Sally. His 
father will not hear of it. All that must be at an 
end. 


VII 

Sally is so affronted that she feels she must be 
queen if only to punish the insolent creature for 
his presumption. Probably he is laughing at her 
at this moment with the detestable Lady Car. She 
could not face the eyes of her world, so she flies 
out of town to Goodwood, is overtaken on the way 
by Lord Newbattle, who unsays all he has written 
and is again her slave. Goodwood is closed against 
him, but not against Lady George, who carries on 
the love-making for him. All in vain. Sally is 
heart-whole so far as Newbattle is concerned. 

She will not come back to town to be wooed by 
the King, as her brother Fox hopes. She flies away 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


70 

from Goodwood to Redlinch in Somersetshire with 
Lady Susan Fox-Strangways. They make hay 
and drink syllabubs and gather roses and feast on 
strawberries and cream : and the two are irresistible 
in their country airs. Till Sally, hunting on a mare 
as wild as herself, has the misfortune to break her 
leg. 

Other people when they break their leg have a 
wearisome time of mending it. Sally’s bone-setter, 
Mr. Clark, of Bruton, bears witness that she is the 
bravest and merriest patient he has ever attended. 
The poor wretch is head over ears in love with 
Sally, who laughs at him and drives him to despair 
by her rashness. She will not lie up at Maiden 
Bradley, where she has met with her accident, but 
will be laid on a pretty bed and carried on men’s 
shoulders to Redlinch, singing as she goes lest the 
tears should come for the pain. 

VIII 

Let Mr. Fox tell in his own words how the King 
received the news of the accident to Lady Sarah. 

“On Monday, which was yesterday, I went to 
court. The King has asked Conolly a hundred 
questions about Lady Sal, and was concerned she 


THE TREE OF LOVE 


7i 


should be left to the care of a country surgeon. 
Conolly told him Hawkins had been sent to and 
declared there was no use in his going. His 
Majesty, I hear from Conolly, was most tender. I 
thought he might probably not speak to me concern- 
ing Lady Sal. I determined, however, that he 
should if I could bring it about. After a loose 
question or two he in a third supposes I am by this 
time settled at Holland House. (Now I have you.) 

* I never go there, Sir,’ says I. ‘ There is nobody 
there.’ ‘Where is Lady Caroline?’ ‘In Somer- 
setshire, with Lady Sarah.’ At that name his voice 
and countenance, gentle and gracious already, 
softened and becolored. ‘ I am very glad to hear 
she is so well.’ ‘ As well as anybody can be with 
such an accident, but the pain was terrible from the 
motion of the coach till she got to Mr. Hoare’s.’ 
He drew up his breath, wreathed himself, and made 
the countenance of one feeling pain himself. 
(Thinks I, you shall hear of that again.) I added: 
‘ She is extremely cheerful now, and patient and 
good-humored to a degree.’ ‘ Was she going 
down a steep hill when the horse fell ? ’ ‘I believe 
not, Sir. The horse put his foot upon a stone which 
broke, and it was impossible he should not fall. 
Lady Sarah, I hear,’ says I, ‘proposes to ride to 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


72 

London on the same horse to clear the horse from 
all blame.’ ‘ That shows,’ says he, ‘ a good spirit in 
Lady Sarah, but I trust there will be prudence in 
the family to prevent it.’ ‘I fancy,’ says I, ‘ Lady 
Caroline will dissuade it; but indeed the horse was 
not to blame; in rising again his shoulder pressed 
Lady Sarah’s leg upon the stones of which that 
road is full, and broke it.’ Then came again the 
same expression of uneasiness, which I rather in- 
creased by talking again of the pain the motion of 
the coach gave : and then, relieved by assuring that 
she had nothing hard to bear now but the confine- 
ment, ‘ I fancy,’ says he, ‘ that is not very easy to 
Lady Sarah.’ And then he left me for some con- 
versation which gave him neither so much pleasure 
nor so much pain as mine had done.” 

In contrast with this ingenuous sensibility of the 
young King, was the unfeeling remark which Lord 
Newbattle was reported to have made in public on 
hearing that Lady Sarah’s leg was broke. 

“ That will do no great harm,” he said, “ for 
though she is a perfect beauty she has an ill-shaped 
leg.” 

Sally’s comment on this was : “ If his manners 


THE TREE OF LOVE 


73 

were as well as my legs there would be nothing to 
complain of.” 

IX 

Two months later Sally is back in London, as 
fresh and fair as country air and rest can make her. 
She goes to the play, and the King is in the royal 
box. His pleasure at seeing her is ingenuously ap- 
parent to all the house: and Sally, half frightened, 
runs away when His Majesty’s eye is off her. The 
Sunday after, when he found her in the drawing- 
room — Sally had begun to play with the prospect 
of being queen of England, her appetite whetted 
perhaps by the opposition of the King’s family and 
ministers — he colored up excessively and went at 
once to her side, where he talked to her eagerly and 
to the exclusion of all others while she stayed. 

On Thursday at the birthday ball he had no 
eyes for any one but her. Sally was resplendent 
in a gown of white lutestring with roses in her dark 
hair. His Majesty forgot all that was required of 
him, flung etiquette to the winds for the joy of 
leaning over Sally’s white shoulders, embarrassing 
her by the nearness of his cheek to hers. 

She was conscious enough that all eyes were upon 


74 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


her and the King : that when they danced the crowd 
seemed to fall away and leave a circle about them. 
She caught a glimpse of herself and the King in 
a mirror while he bowed to her with his hand on 
his heart in the contre-dance of “ All in a Garden 
Green.” She blushed, realizing how particular was 
his look, his attitude. While they crossed hands 
and she swept in the curtsey she was suddenly 
aware of one face among those of the ring of spec- 
tators who were watching her. It was the face 
of Lord William Gordon, older than its years, a 
little fretted with fine lines as though he had suf- 
fered. Oh, Sally’s one man! The one man for 
Sally of all the world! The King was offering his 
hand now. She laid hers in- it suddenly cold. The 
formal music was crashing about them. “ Madam, 
will you take my hand ? ” says the King, under cover 
of the music. His eyes are very ardent; his color 
is high. What are the ministers, a peck of trouble- 
some relations, as against glorious Sally and love? 

“Will you take my hand?” whispered the King, 
bending over Sally in the figure of the dance to 
lay a kiss on her fingers. “ Will you take my hand 
and all it contains? I know none fitter to rule my 
kingdom and me.” 

Sally is suffused from brow to chin, over her fair 


THE TREE OF LOVE 


75 


milk-white shoulders, with painful blushes. She 
knows the room is staring. William Gordon she 
can see nowhere now. Though she seems to look 
down her eyes have swept the room and missed him. 
Too indifferent doubtless to look on at Sally’s woo- 
ing by the King. Though she blushes she is coldly 
unhappy. A little while ago she would have taken 
up the King’s challenge. Now — she is unready. 
She would slip away if she could, anywhere, to 
escape from His Majesty’s looks of love and desire. 
She has no idea how beautiful she is. 

“ Will you dance ‘ Betty Blew ’? ” asks the King 
again. “ It is a dance I am very fond of because it 
was taught me by a lady I adore. You know whom 
I mean ? ” 

“ No, Sir.” 

“ A very lovely lady,” he says, “ the queen of all 
ladies. She came from Ireland last November was 
a twelvemonth.” 

He has led her to a seat by this time, placing her 
on the left hand of his fauteuil. All the room is 
prodigiously busy watching Sally and the King. 
He strokes a fold of her satin gown as he talks, thus 
displaying a very ostentation and foolishness of 
love, as though he challenged my Lord Bute, who 
was in attendance. 


76 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ I am talking to that heavenly creature now,” 
he says. “ She taught me ‘ Betty Blew 9 at the 
dance o’ Twelve-night. There is no other lady in 
England who would consider as little my being 
King. I would be loved as man, not King.” 

“ Oh, Sir,” says Sally under her breath, feeling 
herself dreadfully dull and cold before this ardent 
wooer. If only William Gordon had stayed away 
from the birthday ball! Why must he come in 
and spoil everything? “ Oh, Sir,” she says, and 
makes an effort to be sprightly. “ I have forgotten 
the Twelve-night ball and the dance of * Betty 
Blew/ ” 

“ So have not I,” he returns. “ I have a very 
good memory for all that concerns that adorable 
creature. I have made a pretty new country dance 
of my own for the queen’s birthday. It is to be 
called * The Twenty-fifth of February.’ ” 

Sally started and blushed violently. The twen- 
ty-fifth of February was her own birthday. My 
Lord Bute passed by smiling. When my Lord Bute 
smiled . . . ! Sally would have liked to play with 
my Lord Bute, whom she detested. But she had 
not the heart. She had no readiness to reply to the 
King, who seemed unaware of anything lacking 
in her. 


THE TREE OF LOVE 


77 


When it was time for him to leave the assembly 
he lingered, even returned again and again to say 
some parting word to her. Such a spectacle of a 
King in love had not been seen at the court for 
many a day. 


X 

My Lord Bute has an attack of the gout. The 
Duke of Newcastle is coming and going between 
the duke’s uncles and the Princess Augusta. Mr. 
Pitt makes no sign. Mr. Fox goes out of town for 
some sea-bathing that is useful in an old disorder 
of his. 


CHAPTER VI 

IN WHICH SALLY STEPS DOWN 

I 

A LL the world takes it for granted that Sally is 
to be queen. The courtiers vie with one 
another as to who is to pay her most court. Lady 
Barrington, who as a great friend of Sally, laugh- 
ingly pushes herself before Sally as they go together 
into the presence-chamber, saying before all the peo- 
ple — 

“Look at my beautiful back, for you will not 
have many more opportunities of seeing it.” 

It is Mr. Fox’s doing that Sally is absent from 
court for a while, so that by denial the King’s 
passion may be increased. It is glorious June 
weather ; and Sally, in a gown of pink damask with 
a white fichu sprigged in gold, makes hay in a 
meadow adjoining the road by which the King 
takes his morning ride. Lady Susan Fox-Strang- 
ways and Stephen and Charles Fox are of the 
party; but the King sees none but Sdlly, lovely in 
78 


SALLY STEPS DOWN 


79 


the hay-field, and her laughter follows him as he 
goes, pelting him, as he says, like a shower of rose- 
leaves. 

Once he dismounts, joins them in the meadow, 
and forgetting he is a King, makes hay with the 
merry quartet. He drinks water from the spring 
out of Sally’s hands, pink as sea-shells, and leaves 
a kiss in the cup. He rests in the shade of trees 
from the noonday sun. Sally sits on a haycock, 
His Majesty half reclining on the ground at her 
feet, his cheek resting on a fold in her damask, 
while she reads to him the piteous story of the two 
lovers struck by lightning while hay-making in 
Somersetshire, with Mr. Pope’s elegant epitaph 
which he composed upon them. 

The King turns and asks Sally if she would not 
like to die so, and when she denies it, he says: 
“ There are too many ready to agree with a King, 
even in his follies. You would not tell a white lie 
to please me.” 

“ No,” says Sally, “ for the one fault I have not 
got is to depart from the truth.” 

Afterward they go and drink milk warm from 
the cow in Lady Caroline Fox’s dairy, a very pretty 
place, lined with white china tiles, a natural stream 
of water flowing through it, roses and honeysuckle 


8o 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


curtaining the low window and the sweetest smell 
of fresh cream within it. 

After which the King returns on foot to Ken- 
sington Palace. 


II 

On Thursday, June eighteenth, Sally went to 
court with Lady Kildare. The King looked and 
was exceeding fond, seeming to desire to let the 
world know that Sally had him at her feet. He be- 
haved as though he wanted Sally to save him from 
some peril, seizing her hand,* and saying, much to 
her confusion: “They told me you were to have 
gone out of town. If you had gone I should have 
been miserable. For God’s sake, think of what I 
said to Lady Susan Strangways before you went 
into the country.” And again: “ For God’s sake, 
think of what I said to Lady Susan, and believe I 
have an attachment that fire could not burn nor 
water quench: no, nor time nor death itself have 
power to alter.” 

At this point Sally seems to have made up her 
mind to marry the King; indeed it is pretty certain 
she accepted him. 

She attended two other drawing-rooms, and it 
was remarked that the King seemed lost for love, 


SALLY STEPS DOWN 


81 


following Sally about, without eyes or ears for any 
one else. On Sunday, at the Chapel Royal, it was 
apparent that he heard not one word of the sermon 
for ogling Sally. One more drawing-room, where 
the King was followed and spied upon indecently 
by his sister, the Princess Augusta, and Lady Bute, 
so that he had no private word, but only a formal 
greeting of Sally ; and her day was come to an end. 
A little later there is a council, and the King’s be- 
trothal to the Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg 
is announced. 

The King sends a secret message to Sally that he 
will love her till he dies, but places the good of his 
people above his own felicity. Sally does not an- 
swer him. She feels he has behaved scurvily; but 
her heart is untouched. Every one commends her 
spirit. Even my Lord Bute’s party can not mock 
at her, for she is handsomer than ever and carries 
her head high, with a light in her eye that defies 
pity and mockery alike. How explain her? She 
would have liked to be queen for an adventure, but 
she would have preferred the throne if it did not 
carry the King with it. She sings to herself some- 
times an Irish song for which Mr. Fox has a dis- 
favor — 


82 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ I’ll dye my petticoats, I’ll dye them red, 
Around the world I’ll beg my bread 
Until my parents shall wish me dead, 

Is go dheid tu Mhmrnxn sldn ” 

Mr. Fox says it is a savage thing, only fit for 
teagues and rapparees. He says that Sally is of 
that lightness and flexibility of temper and affec- 
tions that the sickness of her squirrel troubles her 
more than the loss of a throne. The nursing of it 
took up all her care and attention, and when, un- 
fortunately, the little creature died, after weeping 
a day she took into her affections a little hedgehog 
that she had saved from calamity in the fields, and, 
absorbed in her pets, she forgot that the town was 
pitying her. 


Ill 

A week after the announcement Sally goes to 
court and the King, seeing her, falls into a state 
of the most painful confusion. Sally is very seri- 
ous and dignified, a mood not at all usual with her ; 
and the King coming to speak with her leaves her, 
looking so wretched that it is the topic of all 
tongues. 

Will Sally be bridesmaid? That is what every 
one is asking. She can not be overlooked because 


SALLY STEPS DOWN 


83 


of her rank; and there are bets at White’s and 
Almack’s of a hundred guineas on what she will 
answer to the Lord Chamberlain when he writes 
asking her desires in the matter. 

The invitation duly reached her, and although 
Lady Caroline Fox was for her refusing, Mr. Fox 
applauded her spirit when she announced her in- 
tention of accepting, saying to her: “ Well, Sal, 
you are the first virgin in England, and you shall 
take your place in spite of them all as chief brides- 
maid; and the King shall repent when he sees your 
pretty face.” 

“ The little squirrel is dead,” reports Mr. Fox to 
his brother, Lord Ilchester, “ and, which is worse, 
the pretty horse, Beau. Lady Sal, to comfort her, 
has a young hedgehog, which breakfasted with us 
to-day. She continues to kiss it very much. She 
does not seem to miss the prospect of H.M.’s 
kisses.” 


IV 

After all, Sally is but sixteen — scarcely that. 
That she should carry herself with such courage 
and dignity is little short of wonderful; but in 
those days fifteen was quite a grown-up young lady 
and ready for marriage and the ruling of a house. 


8 4 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


She announces herself to Lady Susan that she 
has been asked to be bridesmaid. 

“ My dearest Pussy,” she writes, “ I have only 
time to tell you that I have been asked to be brides- 
maid, and I have accepted of it. ... I think it is 
not to be looked on as a favor, but as a thing due 
to my rank, a thing of course; then why refuse it 
and make a great talk? ... To him and his sis- 
ters I was, and always will be, as high and grave 
as possible, for I think the least flirting would ruin 
my character quite.” 

Lady Susan is also to be a bridesmaid, and Sally 
is concerned with the dresses, Lady Sue being in 
the country. 

“ I have bespoke you a cheap trimming like 
mine,” she writes — Oh, Sally of the frugal mind! 
— “as it’s long a-getting, and I have ordered a 
white silk to be laid by for you, also like mine. 
If anything should put off your coming, pray send 
a pair of stays for a measure, as the embroidery is 
to be measured upon them, and that is the longest 
piece of work.” 


V 

Sally has refused Lord Erroll. 

“ Fll surprise you when I tell you that Ajax, 


SALLY STEPS DOWN 


85 


even the mighty Ajax, employed begging, prayers 
and even tears to turn me from my purpose, and 
I stood it all out for an hour. I could not help 
crying too at seeing a great man in distress, but 
yet I did not allow myself to be much moved, for 
all was in vain. 

“ Oh, lord, Sue ! ” she adds, “ I nearly forgot to 
tell you that Charles Fox has written some Latin 
verses upon you; the purport of them is to desire 
a pigeon to fly to his love, Susan, and carry a 
letter from him, and that if it makes haste it will 
please both Venus, its mistress and him. There 
now, are you not proud to have your name written 
in a scholar’s exercise?” 

VI 

Sarah was “ chief angel ” at the King’s wedding, 
and was beautiful in her white and silver. “ Noth- 
ing ever looked so charming,” said Horace Wal- 
pole. “ Lady Sarah has all the glow and beauty 
peculiar to the family. The King could not take 
his eyes from her; and the dumpy, good little con- 
sort, weighted down by the exceeding splendor of 
her dress, cut a poor figure by Sally, beautiful as 
Venus, and her flock of doves, the bridesmaids. 

“ A very awkward incident occurred at the wed- 


86 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


ding, for Lord Westmoreland, an old Jacobite peer, 
who had not come to court since the Hanoverian 
succession but had been persuaded to appear at the 
King’s wedding, being purblind, took Sally for the 
queen, and went on his knees to her to kiss her 
hand. Sally, in great confusion, snatched her hand 
from him. 

44 4 You mistake, sir ; I am not the queen,’ she 
said. 

44 The good little Queen’s good-humor saved the 
situation, for she seemed to find the incident vastly 
amusing. 

44 4 Ah,’ said George Selwyn, 4 1 am not surprised 
at my Lord Westmoreland. He always loved a 
Pretender ’ ” 


VII 

There is an unrecorded happening in those days. 
Sally riding her new mare, Fidelle, in Richmond 
Park one day, comes upon Lord William Gordon 
whom she had thought far away. 

Just in time, for Sally unawares — she never 
asked any one’s advice — had ridden into a herd 
of deer who at this time were in a dangerous hu- 
mor, contrary to their usual gentleness. The 
days are short and the dusk has fallen prematurely 


SALLY] STEPS DOWN 


87 


with a London fog. The stags are drawing in 
upon Sally, belling in an alarming fashion. Lord 
William, sauntering afoot out of the dusk, is a 
deliverer to her, for she has lost knowledge of her 
whereabouts and is riding into a herd, not away 
from it. 

With a greeting as though they met in a draw- 
ing-room he seizes Fidelle by the check-strap and 
turns her head in the contrary direction. Without 
haste he leads the mare. The fog is thickening, 
and the stags, baffled by it, have lost sight of Sally 
and are belling somewhere in the obscurity. 

“ Now, leap,” he says, as the nearest stag is al- 
most upon them. 

Fidelle rises and Sally is safe over a fence which 
she would never have discovered for herself in the 
dark, on a stretch of velvet sward, with Fidelle’s 
forefeet in somebody’s flower-bed. A light shines 
goldenly through the mist. Lord William helps 
Sally to alight. As he does so — is it fancy that he 
holds her in his arms a little longer, presses her a 
little closer than is necessary? 

Sally’s wild heart is set beating as no one else 
has ever made it beat. 

“ You are very wet,” he says, holding Sally by 
the cold hand. “ I did not know the fog was so 


88 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


wet. Your hand is wet and sweet ” — he holds it 
by his cheek. “ This is Sheen Lodge, where Mrs. 
Wharton lives. She will dry and comfort you and 
send you home in her coach. I will come with you 
to make your excuses to your sister.” 

He gives Fidelle in charge to some one who 
comes in answier to his call as though he were mas- 
ter of the place, and leads Sally through a hall 
dimly lit by a fire into a room lit by twenty candles 
as well as a fire. A little old lady sits' by the hearth 
reading, with great horn spectacles upon her nose. 
She looks up with a benevolent glance as they come 
in. 

“ Is it you, William? ” she asks. “ It is good of 
you to come to cheer my solitude. And this young 
lady ? What a lovely thing you have brought 
me!” 

“She is very deaf,” says Lord William aloud; 
“ but she understands more than most people who 
have their hearing.” 

Mrs. Wharton soon proves the truth of what he 
has said, for she stands up and passes her hands 
over Sally’s dress and hair, discovering that she 
is dripping with the wet fog. She calls for her 
woman, who comes and carries Sally away and 
dresses her in a pink bed-gown of Mrs. Wharton’s, 


SALLY] STEPS DOWN 


89 


while her habit is a-drying. Sally never looked to 
happier advantage than in the loose-fitting jacket, 
as deep a pink as a country wench might wear — 
the petticoat of quilted silk to match. She has put 
on a pair of little pink shoes. Her hair was the 
wilder and softer because of the rain. The glorious 
cream and carmine of her complexion was at its 
richest and clearest. Her diamond ear-drops, 
which she had no business to be wearing where 
they might attract wandering cupidity, were not 
brighter than her eyes. Her lips, softly red as a 
newly-opened rose, smiled happily over her white 
even teeth. Her bosom rose and fell and the loose 
gown, open at the throat, displayed its milkiriess. 

No wonder that William Gordon looked startled 
and delighted at this smiling apparition as she came 
back into the room. 

“ She is a pretty thing, William,” said Mrs. 
Wharton. “You could not have chosen better.” 

“ She takes it that you are my sweetheart/’ says 
William Gordon, his eyes full upon Sally. “ There 
is no use to contradict her. She is very deaf.” 

“ And when is the wedding to be? ” the old lady 
asks, holding Sally by the hand. 

Imagining an answer she has not received she 
wags her head at them and says that she is glad 


90 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


it is to be so soon, since it will keep Lord William 
at home. 

“ Never trust him with those haliens,” she says. 
“ A young man should marry in his own country/’ 

Sally does not know whether to cry or laugh. 
She sits down shyly in the chair Mrs. Wharton has 
placed for her. There is a high back of red damask 
to it that sets off finely Sally’s cheeks and hair and 
her gown. She says nothing, but she wonders at 
the things William Gordon is saying. What does 
he mean by them ? It is not fair to let the old lady 
take them for lovers. She is wondering, troubled 
too as to what they will think of the adventure at 
Holland House. Her sister is sure to be angry. 
She was against Sally’s riding unattended to such 
distances. 

Mrs. Wharton leaves them and they sit in the 
firelight and talk. Lord William’s discretion is 
what Sally wiould expect of him. He sets the width 
of the fireplace between them, yet his eyes cross 
the space with an expression which, once Sally has 
seen, she dare not look again. Is it possible that 
the cousin who fulfilled all her childish dreams of 
what is best and noblest in man cares for her? For 
the matter of that — Sally is growing up — she says 
to herself truthfully that there is a je ne sals quoi 


SALLYf STEPS DOWN 


9 1 

about William Gordon which must make her love 
him even if he were to fall far below her expecta- 
tions. 

He takes the shine out of all Sally’s lovers, and 
they are many. She sits looking dreamily into the 
heart of the fire. She is wondering if William is 
still infatuated with the beautiful Roman lady, who, 
report says, is an angel with a devil of a husband, 
one so indifferent to her moreover that he does not 
even care to stick a dagger into the back of a lover. 

“ So, Sally,” says William Gordon suddenly, “ I 
hear that if you had wanted it enough you might 
be queen instead of the Mecklenburger.” 

Sally looks down, a picture of lovely confusion, 
enough to make any man light in the head to see 
her. 

“ The King did not know his own mind,” she 
says ; “ and the Queen is very sweet — kind and 
gracious, if she is not handsome. She desires me 
for her maid-of-honor.” 

“ You will not be it,” he says in a loud voice 
which startles Sally. 

“ Oh, no, I will not be it,” she answers, without 
having any clue to his thoughts. “ My brother 
Fox, whom they have just made Lord Holland, will 
not hear of it.” 


92 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ The Queen is either a fool or she is very wise,” 
he goes on in a more moderate voice. 

“ She is neither a fool nor very wise,” returns 
Sally, “ but she is very good. It is as good as 
beauty and wisdom to have such goodness.” 

He passed from the subject of the Queen, remark- 
ing carelessly that if a woman were so good as all 
that it might be a reason for a man to be in love 
with her. “ It is moderation that is fatal,” he said. 
“ Pretty good, pretty bad, pretty pretty, pretty wise, 
pretty foolish. It is better to be thorough, little 
Sally.” 

Mrs. Wharton came back, preceding a footman 
with a tray on which was the drink so much in 
vague among the ladies, the Chinese plant, tea, or 
tay, with a variety of sweet cakes and cordial 
waters. She had an evident expectation of finding 
the lovers engrossed with each other, for she came 
in with an apology. Presently taking Sally aside 
while William Gordon played to them on the spinet, 
for he was very accomplished and had all manner of 
arts, she said how pleased she was that her boy 
William, as she called him, was to have such a 
dear wife. 

“ I have never had any children of my own,” she 
went on. “ Indeed I never married, though as lady- 


SALLY STEPS DOWN 


93 


in-waiting to her late gracious Majesty Queen Anne 
I had many lovers. I never saw a man I liked so 
well as William’s father, though I did not marry 
him. And I am glad you have chosen William,, 
my dear, and not George, for George is a hot- 
headed boy and will be a hot-headed man, whereas 
I could trust any one with William, he is so tender/’ 
Sally felt herself entirely in agreement with the 
old lady’s sentiments; she tried in vain to make her 
understand that she was not going to marry Lord 
William, but gave it up in despair, fearing her de- 
nials must reach the player where he sat, his hand- 
some head bent over at the spinet. 


CHAPTER VII 

IN* WHICH SALLY HAS HER HEART’S DESIRE 

I 

S ALLY went home in Mrs. Wharton’s coach, 
her cousin riding on the seat with the coach- 
man; and this was a refinement of consideration 
which made Sally more in love than ever, for she 
adored such sensibility and delicacy. She was 
more happy in the dark interior of the coach know- 
ing herself under his care, than the most ardent 
love-making could have caused her to be. When 
he assisted her from the coach with an air of the 
greatest deference, she could not have felt prouder 
though she had been the queen. 

Now Mrs. Wharton, although she lived in retire- 
ment, was a person of so much consideration that 
my Lord Holland was not inclined to blame Sally 
for an adventure which brought her to such a 
friendship. Lady Holland, whatever she thought 
of the adventure, was too rejoiced at having her 
little sister safely returned to her to complain much 
94 


SALLY HAS HER DESIRE 


95 


of tHe one who brought her home in safety. Lord 
William’s infatuation for the Roman lady was well 
known. It had no taint of the sensual in it. The 
lady was as devout as she was beautiful and heart- 
broken by the notorious ill-behavior of her 
husband. Lord William had a reputation, unique 
among men of fashion of his day, of an excellent 
behavior. 

He supped at Holland House and the next day 
returned again to find Sally alone. A young foot- 
man showed him in, believing Lady Holland to be 
at home; she was gone to court; and Sally sat by 
the fire nursing a cold contracted in yesterday’s 
fog which had ended in a frost, only to become a 
dripping rain. 


II 

She was in confusion when Lord William was 
shown in, being dreadfully conscious of the discom- 
fort of her cold and how her eyes ran and her 
nose was red and swollen and her voice thick. But 
the gentleman was not apparently aware of any- 
thing disadvantageous in her appearance. 

He showed a tender solicitude for her, drawing 
the screen closer in the warm corner where she sat 
and her wraps about her throat; and as he did so 


96 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


his hands inadvertently touched her neck, of which 
Sally was aware with a tingling shyness. 

Strangely enough, as though like drew to like, 
Lord William seemed somewhat embarrassed on his 
side and yet excited and eager. 

“ I have something to show you, Sally , 55 he said, 
producing a little packet. “ That dear old soul gave 
it to me for you last night. You liked her, Sally, 
did you not? She was much taken with you and 
thought your beauty beyond anything she had 
known . 55 

“ She ought to have known me to-day , 55 said Sally, 
fumbling with her packet. 

“ I see nothing amiss to-day , 55 he answered, “ ex- 
cept a poor child with a cold, which I wish I might 
have borne myself. Let me help you, Sally . 55 

Their hands met over the packet, and again Sally 
was aware of a tingling that ran through her from 
head to foot. 

Lord William took possession of the box and 
opened it. Within lay a string of milky pearls on 
a satin bed. 

“ Mrs. Wharton said I was to put them on you, 
Sally / 5 he said, but Sally drew back. She was 
frightened and yet delighted. No man had ever 


SALLY HAS HER DESIRE 


97 

made her feel like this before: and she was afraid 
of it. He insisted, and tears came in her eyes. 

“ Poor child ! ” he said softly, laying the pearls 
back in their case; and there was that in his eyes 
which made her feel as though she must run away. 
She retreated farther back into her corner with an 
excuse that she found the fire too hot, nearly knock* 
ing over her screen as she did so. 

“ Sally,” said he, with a suddenness that took 
her breath away, " why did you refuse His 
Majesty? ” 

She answered with the truth and frankness native 
to her. 

“Why, as a matter of fact, Cousin William, I 
did not refuse him; the refusal lay with His Maj- 
esty” 

Her voice shook as she said it, for her pride had 
been wounded by that which had not had power to 
wound her heart. 

“ What? ” she went on, with an affected lightness, 
“ have you not heard the gossip of the town, how 
His Majesty — ” 

“ I am not concerned with gossip,” he said al- 
most sternly. “ What I do know is the truth. I 
know that the poor man was head over ears in love 


98 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


with you, is for the matter of that. I do not know 
how he could resist you. What those qualified to 
know best are saying is, that with a little polity, 
anything less than the frankness and truth His 
Majesty adored in you, you would have been a 
match for the ministers and the family. ,, 

“ Lord ! ” said Sally with a boyish air, “ the 
crown was not worth it.” 

Lord William smiled. 

“ Granted, that for Sally the crown was not worth 
it. Yet she might have found the man worth it. 
His Majesty is very handsome.” 

“ I never thought of that,” said Sally. “ If I was 
civil to His Majesty — I was not always so — *twas 
to oblige my brother, Fox, who always praised me 
when the King was pleased. I confess His Majesty 
behaved very well in one way, if very ill in another. 
If he deceived me he treated me with honor — ” 
she flushed suddenly and her voice choked. “ He 
never thought of me for anything but the queen of 
England. He had his counselors ready to talk of 
an easier way. Cousin William, there was no 
easier way ” — she looked a queen as she said it — 
“ but I will say for him that His Majesty repudiated 
the suggestion with the scorn it deserved.” 

“If he had not,” said William Gordon fiercely, 


SALLY HAS HER DESIRE 


99 

“he would have had to answer for it, though he 
were twenty times King of England.” 

The greatest sweetness flowed like a wave over 
Sally’s heart at the speech and the manner in which 
it was uttered. 

“ I will say to you without boasting, Cousin Wil- 
liam,” she said, “ and I would say it to no other, 
that if I had cared enough, if I had cared at all, His 
Majesty would have been mine. I have nothing 
against His Majesty. There was duplicity, perhaps, 
inasmuch as he still sought my favor when the 
marriage with Miss Charlotte of Mecklenburg had 
been decided upon, but I think he hoped, poor 
wretch. The Queen is very sweet.” 

Ill 

At this stage Lord William left Sally abruptly 
and went away to the other end of the long drawing- 
room, where he stood by the window looking out 
at the falling rain and the sodden world outside. 

While she waited, trembling, afraid of she knew 
not what, he came back to her side. 

“ Sally,” he said, and took her hands and bent 
over her. “ Why were you indifferent to His Maj- 
esty? Not many girls — I am not saying there 
is another Sally — ?* could be indifferent to a King, 


IOO 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


handsome and young. Sally — was it because your 
affections were already engaged ? ” 

He had followed her into her corner. He pressed 
her for an answer, looking into her eyes. At an- 
other moment she would have run away from him. 
Now, overwhelmed with she knew not what feel- 
ing, she burst into tears. 

“Good God, Sally !” he said, “don’t cry. If 
you cry I shall take you in my arms. Could you 
love me, Sally ? ” 

He flung himself on his knees and laid his head 
on her hands. Her tears stopped. What sun had 
come out, flushing the world with joy? What sing- 
ing of birds? What delight was heard in the 
land? 

“ It was very well I did not win His Majesty,” 
she said very simply. “ For if you were to ask me 
to follow you anywhere over the world, though it 
were to step down from the throne, I should have 
to do so. It has always been so with me and al- 
ways will be. But I never thought you could love 
me. I have attained the summit of my desires.” 

“ Child ! ” he answered ; and his soberness was 
quite departed. “ You should not so cheapen your- 
self to me. If your lovely beauty could stoop to 
one so unworthy — oh, there never yet has been a 


SALLY HAS HER DESIRE ioi 

frankness and a courage equal to Sally’s! — if you 
could light again the torch of life for one who has 
dropped it, be content with what another woman has 
dropped! I thought a while ago that my heart was 
but the ashes of burnt-out fires.” 

“ We shall light them again,” cried she; her hand 
on his head and she yielding herself to his embrace. 

IV 

A little later. 

“ I thank my fortunate stars,” said he, “ that her 
ladyship was abroad and that the mistake of a 
servant has given me a blessed opportunity, for 
ladies of your quality, Sally, are not often let alone 
with a man even if you call cousins with him.” 

“ Oh,” said Sally, “ for the matter of that I would 
have run away anywhere to a meeting if I had 
known you wanted me.” 

Then he would have Sally tell him when and 
what exact moment she had begun to love him, 
and to ask her with a lover’s curiosity what there 
was in him that she should prefer him before the 
King. At which Sally grew saucy, for she was a 
creature of many moods and every one a greater 
delight than the last, and she would not answer 
him, but played with him, laughing to find him her 


102 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


captive at last whom she had never hoped to be 
hers. 

She had forgotten her cold, and indeed she never 
looked more radiant than when she played with 
him; he called her a laughing goddess and a cruel 
beauty and his heart’s tyrant, while the seriousness 
which had misbecome his years dropped away from 
him like a mask. 


V 

A footman came in with cups of chocolate on a 
tray which they took and sipped, sitting demurely 
either side the fire, Sally playing at being a modish 
fine lady talking scandal over a dish of tea. But 
presently her mood changed like the wind. He had 
been interrupting her in her play with his fondness, 
telling her that his dear old lady, Mrs. Wharton, 
had been a wise woman else she never could have 
known that he and Sally w(ere lovers; that he had 
told her on his fingers it was not so, that Sally 
would not stoop to his age — he was at this time 
twenty-five — but that she pretended not to under- 
stand, and had left them together for a kindness 
while she found the pearls for Sally’s milky neck' 
for a wedding present. 

“ Tell me now,” said Sally, interrupting him. “ I 


SALLY HAS HER DESIRE 


103 


will never ask you again. Oh, you shall find me 
generous: I abhor a jealous wife. Have you given 
up Madame Coronna with all your heart?” 

“ You have no reason to be jealous, Sally. That 
angelic woman sent me to you. If she had not 
detached me from her I should not be here.” 

VI 

It was not altogether what a girl desires to hear 
from her lover, but Sally had a greater soul than 
most girls, and if she was dismayed she quickly 
sent her dismay packing. 

“ Tell me of Madame Coronna,” she said, look- 
ing up at him in the firelight; and he thought he 
had never seen anything lovelier than the gentleness 
and sympathy of her expression. 

“ I will tell you about her,” he replied in a low 
voice. “ Indeed, I would not ask any woman to 
marry me until she knew what that adorable woman 
has been to me. Sally, I thought I was done with 
love. Child, be content that you have kindled a 
new fire in the ashes of my heart. She banished 
me from her and I am here ; and she bade me carry 
her your love and blessing and to tell you you need 
not grudge the comfort my devotion has proved to 
a dying woman.” 


104 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

“ I only fear,” said Sally humbly, “ that I shall 
not satisfy you after her.” 

Adorable humility! Lord William turned and 
smiled at her and there was nothing amiss with his 
expression. She looked up and saw that look and 
her heart leaped to answer it 

“You should not have left her,” she said; and 
was unaware of her own beautiful generosity. 

“ I would not,” he said, answering her as simply 
as she had spoken ; “ but she is incurably ill. She 
has gone into the Convent of the Spirito Santo to 
die. It was somewhere I could not follow her. 
Oh, Sally, if you had seen her face when she talked 
of dying! They will lay her on a bed of ashes to 
die. So used kings to go to meet their Creator. 
I would she might have died on my breast, in my 
arms.” 

His voice was suddenly morose, his eyes gloomy. 
He had forgotten Sally. For the moment the dead 
or the dying woman had taken back her gift. 

VII 

Sally kept her secret to herself. Time enough 
to impart it when her lover wished. She laid away 
the string of pearls after setting them against her 
neck before the mirror, her eyes shy because she 


SALLY HAS HER DESIRE 


105 


felt William Gordon’s eyes yet upon them; and 
kept her secret in her heart. It made her eyes 
bright and her cheeks bloom beyond comparison, so 
that Lord Holland, coming in from a council meet- 
ing, tweaked her ear and said : “ It is well, Sally, 

you show such roses. What would not Her Little 
Majesty give for even two out of your garden ?” 

That evening she sang her wild Irish song — 

“ I’d sell my rock, I’d sell my reel 
I’d sell my only spinning wheel 
To buy for my love a sword of steel 
Is go dheid tu Mhuirnin slan ” 

which Lord Holland held no song for a young lady 
and smelt rebellion in it, saying Sally was too fond 
of Irish rogues and rapparees. 

She said nothing of Lord William Gordon’s 
visit, but as chance would have it the conversation 
turned on the family at dinner, Lord Holland say- 
ing that there was a drop of the zealot or the 
madman in all that family. Sally was suddenly 
confused and drew the banner-screen between her- 
self and the fire as though she found it too hot, but 
really to have her face in shadow; 

“ It would be a pity to burn your cheeks, Sal,” 
said my Lord Holland, “ seeing that so many fine 


io6 -ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

gentlemen singe their wings at the light of your 
eyes.” 

“ What do you mean, Henry ? ” asked Lady Hol- 
land, who was literal-minded. “ Do you speak in 
general, or are you particular ? ” 

<c My Lord Erroll, they say, goes about and sighs 
like a lover,” said Lord Holland, with a merry 
glance at Lady Sarah. “ As for Mr. Bunbury, he 
has not backed a horse these three days, and they 
say Ruff’s Guide hath fallen out of his memory. It 
was the only book he ever affected till he looked 
in Sally’s eyes. Now he says they mean more to 
him than the Bible.” 

“ For shame, Henry,” said his lady. “You 
should not talk such nonsense. If the young man 
said it, he should not. Bunbury is extremely hand- 
some; but he smells too much of the stables and he 
is as hoarse as a groom.” 

“ He has never yet been in love with anything 
beyond a horse,” says my Lord Holland. “ Sally 
would have the first of him, and she would keep 
him beyond what Newmarket claimed, which would 
be a good deal. Since Sal is a sporting vargin 
herself she might not find him amiss. Better have 
a horse for a rival than a lady.” 

“ That reminds me,” said Lady Holland, “ that 


SALLY HAS HER DESIRE 107 

William Gordon is come to town. They say his 
flame is dying.” 

Sally's heart gave one great leap and pulsed furi- 
ously in her ears so that she missed somewhat of 
the conversation. She drew her chair back in the 
shade of the screen and hoped that her confusion 
would pass unnoticed while she composed herself 
to listen. 

“To my mind it was a touching thing,” said 
Lady Holland, “and she no longer young.” 

“ Some men would say — some men do say — the 
more fool he that had nothing for it,” said Lord 
Holland cynically. “ 'Tis the way of the Gordons 
to be fools and knights-errant.” 

Sally's cheeks flamed. She said in a voice that 
trembled, although she tried to keep it quiet, that 
for the matter of that all seif-sacrifice, all devotion, 
all poetry and romance were folly to some men; 
and that for her part she hated the talk of the clubs, 
which was not fit for ladies' ears. 

“ Hoity-toity,” said Lord Holland, “ you will get 
used to the creatures, Sal, when you have one of 
your own. Not but what I approve your senti- 
ments. I remember now that you and William 
Gordon were great friends.” 

“ It would not to do marry him,” said Lady Hoi- 


io8 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


land, calmly matching the silks for her embroidery. 
“ There would be too much in his past for any 
woman to endure. I have heard she is a heavenly 
creature.” 

“ Then the fitter for an angel,” said Lord Hol- 
land. “ They say William Gordon would never 
have left her if she had not driven him from her 
by a ruse.” 

Sally waited, impatient to hear more. But the 
subject of William Gordon was done with. Lord 
Holland remembered a good story of what Colonel 
Barre had said in the House. Sally, palpitating to 
be alone, so that she might recover herself, took 
the opportunity of her brother-in-law's laughing 
excessively to escape to the privacy of her bed- 
chamber; and appeared no more that evening. 


; 


CHAPTER VIII 

IN WHICH A BLOW FALLS UPON SALLY 

I 

T HE next day Sally rose up with a most lively 
expectation. Remembering her lover’s ar- 
dor she felt that he would devise a way of seeing 
her. How she did not ask herself; and she had 
forgotten her chill of last night when her sister had 
spoken about the past Lord William’s wife must 
succeed to. For the matter of that Sally was ready 
to take the risks. She said to herself that there 
were things in his life she could never share, dreams, 
hopes, aspirations which the dead lady would take 
away with her. What matter! With what was 
left Sally would be rich enough. 

She sang as she dressed herself, taking particular 
care with the choice of her gown and her ribbons — 

“ I would I were on yonder hill, 

Tis there I’d sit and cry my fill 
Till every tear would turn a mill, 

Is go dheid tu Mhuirnin slan” 

109 


no ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

The sad song was never sung to a happier coun- 
tenance. 

The day continued wet and she did not go abroad. 
It was one of those days of January when things 
seem at their worst, just before the February skies 
break and the singing of thrushes is heard in the 
land. Lady Holland had her duties to the Queen 

— she was one of Her Majesty’s wardrobe- women 

— and she bade Sally be happy and nurse her cold 
beside the fire, with a posset to sip and Evelina, 
by Miss Burney, a book which was just then setting 
the town aflame, to read. 

At first Sally was in a mood of great cheerful- 
ness. She could not lose herself in Evelina * . Her 
own romance was far too much with her at the 
moment for her to care greatly about the joys and 
woes of an imaginary heroine, though she kept 
breaking out into the wild Irish song which had 
haunted her persistently of late. 

She worked at her embroidery frame a while and 
she played with her dogs. She practised her harp- 
sichord and did a little at her water-color paint- 
ting ; but nothing was done to her own satisfaction. 

II 

She sat down to write to Lady Susan Fox- 


A BLOW FALLS UPON SALLY hi 

Strangways; it was something to do while she 
waited for what the day was sure to bring. 

“ My dearest Sue, 

“ I have got a great cold and am very cross 
so shall not write an agreeable letter. Charles is 
as disagreeable about acting in our play as can be: 
he won’t learn his part perfect, won’t rehearse and 
in short shows plainly that the reason he won’t 
enter into it is your not being here. In fact 

* Charles will not play 
Since Susan is away.’ 

“ Stephen’s last advice to me is, ‘ Don’t refuse 
a good match when you can get it and don’t go to 
the play too often.’ Knowing me you know how 
like I am to take his advice. Pray when do you 
come to town? I will send you a translation of 
Charles’ verses done by an Eaton boy; they are 
very pretty. I have got a dressed sack, and dear 
Mr. L’Estorel has dressed my hair en perfection , 
so that it becomes me very well ; ‘ vain thing,’ you 
will say, but I wish you would get one too: it is 
very pretty. I was at Lady G. Sackville’s one 
night and played at quadrille with Lady Eliza Kep- 
pel, Lady Car Russell and Lord Garlise. This is a 


1 12 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


queer letter, but it is better than none. I wore my 
trimming upon garter-blue satin and a white and 
silver body to it; it was beauteous. There were 
many fine gowns at the birthday. Lady North um^ 
berland complained that the crowd was so great she 
could not walk gracefully. 

“ Oh, lord, only think that I should have for- 
gotten to tell you about Lord Newbattle. I have 
come off very well I think; you shall hear. Louisa 
showed him my letter and he read it, and said he 
thought I was vastly in the right for that he must 
own it would be a foolish match for us both, but 
that he was very glad to find I had a regard for 
him; for he was sure he had never behaved ill to 
me and was glad to see I did not believe all the 
stories I have heard of him. He sent his respects 
to me and assures me he is very much obliged to 
me for my regard and that he agrees with me quite 
about it, but hopes we shall be very good friends. 
At the same time he told Louisa he would keep out 
of my way for fear of being in love with me. He 
told her he had lived in a kind of hell to forget 
me. ‘ After all/ says he, ‘ it is much better as it is, 

for I should have made a d d bad husband/ 

All this you will allow is very proper and right, 
is it not? I sent him my compliments, thanked 


A BLOW FALLS UPON SALLY 1 13 

him for his regard and assured him of mine. So 
it is well over. 

“ As for Mr. B. ” 


III 

At this point Sally flung her letter into a drawer 
of her bureau to finish another time. While she 
had been writing it her mind had stood quite out- 
side it, debating the likeliness of Lord William’s 
coming in the morning or the afternoon. The 
afternoon would be more correct, but he was not 
like to be bound by correctness. It had seemed 
hard for him to tear himself away last night. It 
was mostly likely he would come at the earliest pos- 
sible moment. 

The Paris clock on the writing-table ticked out 
eleven silvery strokes. Perhaps he would not come 
till the afternoon, and yet any moment might bring 
him. Where she sat she could hear the great 
knocker of the hall-door. It had sounded for 
various reasons some half-dozen times, each time 
flinging her into such an excitement that the beat- 
ing of her pulses in her ears would not let her hear. 
Once the footman had brought in a note, and she 
had been so much discomposed that she had 
scarcely been able to give an answer. While she 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


114 

had been writing to Lady Susan her ears had been 
on the stretch for a rat-tat. And with all this 
“caccle,” as she called it — Sally was not much of 
a hand at spelling — she felt she was deceiving her 
friend. They had no thoughts from each other. 
What would Lady Susan think if she knew that 
while Sally was “ caccling ” her mind was full of a 
matter so momentous to herself? 

As for “ Mr. B ” — what was the good of 

telling Sue about him, since he was as hopelessly 
over and done with as “ Prince Prettyman ” him- 
self? She would not finish the letter to her friend 
till she could tell her what was in her head and her 
heart. 

She smiled, remembering that her last letter to 
Lady Susan, written after a visit she had paid to 
Lady Ilchester, was full of sage counsel upon the 
imprudence of a mesalliance. Lady Sue’s theatri- 
cals had brought her in touch with a most vivacious 
and agreeable but impossible Irishman^ Mr. Wil- 
liam O’Brien. Her mother had been vexed with 
Lady Sue’s preference for this gentleman, seeing that 
the Duke of Gloucester and Mr. Charles Fox were 
among her lovers, and Sally had been prevailed on 
to advise her friend against the dangerous Irishman. 
To be sure she had found it easier because her in- 


A BLOW FALLS UPON SALLY 


US 

clinations were toward her friend’s favoring her 
nephew Charles’ suit. Sally was very fond of 
Charles Fox, and thought his dark and lively coun- 
tenance, his wit and sparkle and the brilliancy of 
his mind, much preferable to the amiable Irish- 
man, whom she hoped Lady Sue would not have 
the madness to consider seriously. 

Now she smiled to herself at the picture of Sally 
a preacher of prudence — Sally, who was willing, 
nay, eager, to take what the world would call an- 
other woman’s leavings. As for fortune, Lord 
William would have but the slender provision of 
a younger son while Sally’s fortune depended on 
the favor of her brother, the duke. How Sue 
would turn the tables upon her! 

IV 

Although impatient she kept her heart high with 
hope while the morning turned round to afternoon. 
A day of incessant rain, the drip-drip from the 
boughs and eaves, the forlorn and sodden lawns, 
the dejected flower-beds, the misery of everything 
out-of-doors, seemed to oppress her with some bit- 
ter foretaste of a more dreadful day to be. It was 
a day for any but lovers to keep to their houses; 
and no one came while the short afternoon waned 


ii 6 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

to darkness. The stir of the great house did not 
reach Sally in her drawing-room. No coaches or 
chairs came with visitors for Lady Holland; and 
of that Sally was glad. It would have been might- 
ily inconvenient if visitors should chance when my 
Lord William arrived: and Sally was glad the wet 
day made them disinclined to venture forth. 

She imagined a fog over London, a fog creeping 
from the river and the marsh-lands about Westmin- 
ster and joining with the London smoke to make a 
strange night of the streets, where the watch went 
about with lanterns and the link-boys ran with lights 
to keep unhappy wayfarers from slipping into a 
drain or the river, or being overcome by footpads. 
Immediately she was alarmed for her lover. If he 
should have set out on foot early in the morning to 
make his way to Kensington and had wandered 
into the river or some other danger ! She was wild 
with fear. Why, he might be lying dead under 
the dripping ooze of river-mud and water- weeds 
for all she could tell. What was she to do? How 
get into touch with Lord William to know that he 
was safe? 

A footman came in with her dish of tea. “ Tell 
me, Thomas/' she said. “ Do you suppose there is 
a fog in the town ? ” 


A BLOW FALLS UPON SALLY 117 

“ It is more than likely, M’lady. The sky is very 
dark that way.” 

“A bad fog, Thomas?” 

“ Very like, M’lady.” 

While they spoke a sudden rat-tat sounded on 
the hall-door knocker and Sally’s heart leaped out of 
its heaviness. Oh, it was he, it was he! The re- 
vulsion was so great that for the moment she was 
quite overset. She stood clasping and unclasping 
her hands, half-way between the door and the fire- 
place, while the young country footman, who was 
in love with Sally as all male creatures were, hur- 
ried to admit the visitor. Sally would have boxed 
his ears if she could have known his thoughts. 
Watching the door, her joy so over-leaped itself as 
to fall into a sort of disgust. She was not sure 
she wanted William after all. What a day of suf- 
fering it had been ! 

It was only the exhaustion of certainty after 
doubt. She heard the caller admitted. Thomas 
had left the door ever so slightly ajar and she was 
in the drawing-room nearest to the hall. She felt 
a cold fresh wind come in and heard the murmur of 
a deep masculine voice. She stood a picture of ex- 
pectancy, her hand pressed upon her side where her 
heart was leaping. 


1 18 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

The door opened. 

“ Oh, so you have come at last ! ” she cried, run- 
ning toward the door in a whirlwind. Perhaps she 
had not said it; perhaps she had only thought it. 
Would she parade her passion before a servant? 

“ Mr. Bunbury ! ” said the footman. 

Sally's leaping heart was suddenly quiet. 

V 

Mr. Bunbury came in with a timid air, which 
changed to one of delight as he observed Sally’s 
appearance of expectancy and that she was alone. 

“ It is the very height of good fortune that I 
should find you, Lady Sarah/’ he began. 

But Sally had no art to conceal her tears. She 
was only sixteen, although so much was expected 
of her. All of a sudden she seemed to have known 
always that he would not come. He might be dead 
or drowned. God know's what had happened. It 
was enough for Sally that he was not coming, 
would never come. Tears, large and liquid, formed 
in her eyes and ran down her cheeks; while the 
comely youth who had caused the catastrophe stood 
staring at her, with such an expression of dismay 
as Sally would have found comical at any other 


A BLOW FALLS UPON SALLY 119 


moment. Just now she was too dejected, too mis- 
erable, to laugh at anything. 

“ Good lud. Lady Sarah, what is it?” asked the 
astonished young man. 

“ I wish you would go away,” said Sally. “ I 
wish you had not come. It is very forward of you, 
seeing my sister is abroad. I do not entertain visi- 
tors alone.” 

“ Good lud! ” said Mr. Bunbury. “ Yet I could, 
without being a coxcomb, have sworn that you were 
glad to see me. Your whole air showed it.” 

Sally went and leaned by the mantelpiece, her 
head among the Dresden shepherds and shepherd- 
esses, by the Sevres clock and candelabra. She 
only answered Mr. Bunbury’s remark by an indig- 
nant shrug of her shoulders. She had put on her 
prettiest frock, a Pompadour sacque of white 
paduasoy sprigged with rosebuds, over a petticoat 
of scarlet satin. Her finery somehow enlightened 
him. 

“ Oh,” said he in an unwilling voice. “ ’Twas 
some other buck you waited for and I am the un- 
luckiest man alive to have come in his stead.” 

Sally wept on, too depressed even to pity the 
young man. He showed no sign of going, but 


120 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


stood moodily contemplating her averted head and 
heaving shoulders. His own figure reflected in a 
mirror confronted him. The glass showed a very 
pretty fellow, in a coat of dark blue laced with 
silver, and white breeches. His face was really 
charming. In fact the delicacy of its oval, the 
regularity of the features, the large eyes, the curjing 
brown hair, the sweetness of the mouth, narrowly 
escaped being feminine. But there was a je ne sais 
quoi about the young man, even apart from his fine 
manly figure, which made it absurd to think of him 
as anything else but a very manly fellow. 

“ Shall I find your flame for you, Lady Sarah ? ” 
he asked in a freezing voice. “ If I were but ac- 
quainted with his name I should fly.” 

He had hardly meant it, speaking out of the bit- 
terness of jealousy; but Sally’s tears suddenly 
ceased to flow. She turned to look at him, careless 
of the disfigurement of her features caused by the 
tears : hope flickered like a firelight over her face. 

“ It is my cousin, Lord William Gordon,” she 
said timidly. “ I expected him to-day and he has 
not come. I was afeard he might be drowned in 
the fog.” 

“ But there is no fog.” 

“ I thought there was a fog and Thomas the 


A BLOW FALLS UPON SALLY 121 


footman thought it very like. Those creatures al- 
ways agree. Since he has not come I was afeard 
something had happened to him. It has been a 
long lonely day.” 

Sally’s simplicity fairly baffled the young man. 
His handsome face cleared. He remembered to 
have heard that Sally had been brought up with 
her cousin. It was common talk that he was bound 
hand and foot to the Roman lady, Madame Co- 
ronna. Was it likely he and Sally should be 
lovers ? 

“If it would give your mind any relief,” he said, 
and looked at the clock, “ I could get news of him 
within the space of an hour or two. He lodges in 
Westminster — does he not? ” 

“ At 9 Barton Street, close to the Dean’s Yard.” 

She looked at this other lover of hers, her face 
steadily brightening. She had been vaporish, 
foolish. How had she come to make such an ex- 
hibition of herself? She mopped her eyes with her 
handkerchief to wipe away the tears, and her smile 
came out sweetly like sunshine after rain. 

“That will be vastly obliging of you,” she said; 
while to herself she sighed her relief that she would 
not have a night to pass in ignorance of what had 
kept William Gordon from her side. 


122 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


She gave Mr. Bunbury her hands to kiss and he 
went. She felt that she had never liked him so well 
as when the door closed behind him. How hand- 
some he had looked as he had stood there, frown- 
ing and shy. He was much handsomer than Will- 
iam Gordon, whose countenance was marred by a 
fine network of lines and the tragic sharpness of 
his features. Although, of course, there never 
could be any man but William for her. 

VI 

Sally waited long for her message and was silent 
and abstracted through dinner and after dinner, 
when she and Lady Holland, Lord Holland and 
Charles played at ombre. 

They had no clue to her gloom. She had said 
nothing of Lord William’s visit to her the preced- 
ing day, and the young footman, palpitating with 
jealousy though he was, had spared to com- 
ment even to the servants’ hall on the length of 
time Sally and Lord William had been closeted to- 
gether. 

He could have told the secret of Sally’s gloom 
if he would. He watched her as he handed the 
dishes at supper and made up the fire in the draw- 
ing-room afterward, with a somber and intense 


A BLOW FALLS UPON SALLY 123 

gaze which would have amazed and shocked Sally 
if she had only comprehended it. 

There was another sore heart in the servants’ 
hall, for Jane Tranter from Banbury, the third 
housemaid, who was in love with Thomas, cried 
her eyes out in bed at night, vastly incommoding 
the servant who shared her room by the intensity 
of her sighs and sobs, because Thomas was un- 
happy and had lifted his eyes so high when there 
was a faithful heart in Jane’s breast ready to give 
him its all. He was unaware even that Jane tried 
to dress her coarse mane of hair in imitation of 
Lady Sarah’s beautiful tresses; that she tried to 
copy Lady Sarah’s gestures before the glass; that 
she practised saying “La!” and “Good lud,” in 
the manner of Lady Sarah. So lamentably had the 
poor girl failed in her efforts to please him. 

VII 

Sally had time for a sick certainty of a night of 
suspense before she was put out of pain. 

She went to bed early, complaining of a head- 
ache. It was taken as a natural consequence of her 
cold, and the others bore with her pettishness and 
silence, Lord Holland remarking that if Lady Sarah 
was not better Green must be called in, as he was 


124 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


sure she had a fever the night before from the bril- 
liance of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. 

Escaped to her own chamber she found Jane 
Tranter replenishing the fire. 

“ There are two notes for you, Malady, laid on 
your table. Thomas gave them to me. They have 
but arrived. Shall I send your ladyship’s woman? ” 

“ I shall not need her to-night,” Sally answered, 
palpitating till she had locked the door upon Jane 
Tranter and was alone. How fortunate it was the 
notes had not reached her with all the eyes upon 
her! She had no idea of the humble devotion 
which had spared her that ordeal. 

She untwisted the first letter, taking the second 
and thrusting it into her bosom. She thought she 
perceived in the first the faint odor of the stables 
which Mr. Bunbury was never without. She held 
it delicately away while she read it. 

“ He is not at his lodgings. I was assured he 
had left London for Dover this morning to embark 
on the French packet-boat.” 

Sally, with wide eyes, stared at the letter. 


CHAPTER IX 

IN WHICH SALLY SEES A GHOST 

I 

L ADY HOLLAND knocked at Sally’s door later 
on and was not admitted. She concluded the 
girl to be asleep, and left her in peace for the night, 
but being informed by the French maid in the 
morning that her mistress would not rise, she climbed 
the stairs to Sally’s room, a pleasant room from the 
windows of which one could look away over the 
river to the hills of Surrey. 

She found the door unfastened and went in. 
Sally lay with her face to the wall. Lady Holland 
bent over her and the girl’s face of dull wretched- 
ness shocked her kind heart. What could have 
happened to Sally, brightest of the bright, who 
had cared more for a squirrel’s sickness than the 
crown of England? 

Lady Holland had never had a daughter of her 
own. The young sister, scarcely older than her 
own sons, was very dear to her. She bent to Sally 
and strove to turn the desolate face to her bosom 
125 


126 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


with murmurs of tenderness that softened the ice 
of the girl’s heart. Sally, at last, with a long shiver, 
turned to the comfort and began to weep. 

It was some little while before Lady Holland ex- 
tracted the full story from her, and then she spared 
to utter any reproaches for Sally’s concealment of 
Lord William’s visit.* Indeed, she did not think 
of it as showing want of candor, a thing it would 
be hard to attribute to Sally, who, if she had a fault, 
erred on the other side of a too great frankness. 
She attributed the silence rightly to Sally’s shyness 
over what was really her first love-affair, and the 
suddenness with which Lord William’s offer had 
been made. 

“ Alas, my poor Sal,” she said, having brought 
the girl to something like reason, “ was I not right 
in saying that a woman would have much courage 
to marry a man with such a past? The marchesa, 
every one is agreed, is an angel and yet is liable 
to hold her lovers like a devil. I can not be sorry 
my little sister will not have such a rival in her 
husband’s heart.” 

Sally let her take the letters from her hands, and 
read them through. Lady Holland first read Lord 
William’s letter, and shook her head over it as she 
read. 


SALLY SEES A GHOST 


127 


“ My honored and sweet Coz: 

“Last night I saw a chance of happiness, 
after years which have been half exquisite sweet- 
ness, half torture. I thought I could begin again 
and forget in your young beauty and grace the 
chains which have bound me, which I never could 
have broken of myself. Alas, my child, that dream 
is no longer possible. The lady who sent me to 
you has need of me. I must be hers while she lives 
and I live. She deceived me about the convent. 
She only desired to set me free, since she was so 
long a-dying. God help her, she asked my pardon 
because she was so long. She has gone back to her 
husband. It is murder, just murder. No woman 
could endure a life with that monster, much less 
she, the most delicate and sensitive of creatures 
and dying by inches. I go to her as I must always 
go to her if she needed me. She has not sent for 
me. It is the last thing she would do. Oh, Sally, 
if I were in your embraces I should have to go for 
her lightest call. She can not set me free so easy as 
she thought and I thought. I did you wrong, my 
child, but I might have done you a worse wrong. 
Forget and forgive me. 

“ Your most unhappy cousin, 

“William Gordon.” 


128 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


Lady Holland was troubled. She wished that he 
had not written. It was a letter to appeal to a 
noble and romantic nature like Lady Sarah’s. 

“ You must think no more of him, Sal,” she said; 
and then she fell to commending Bunbury’s be- 
havior. 

“ Are you not touched, Sal ? ” she asked. 
“What devotion! What unselfishness! A lover 
to go seek a lover ! He is very handsome, as hand- 
some a gentleman as ever I saw.” 

“ He smells of the stables,” said Sally ungrate- 
fully, and turned away her head. Her pride was 
sorely hurt. 


II 

Two months later she had begun to consider Mr. 
Bunbury, who had acted his part well, if indeed 
one can talk of acting a part when his conduct was 
the result of natural good-heartedness. While 
Sally Was in the first bitterness of losing her lover 
he kept away; after a time he came quietly back, 
when his manner was admirable, as Sally was 
forced to acknowledge, for while it was obvious to 
all the world that he was her slave yet he asked 
nothing in return. 


SALLY SEES A GHOST 


129 


The day came when Sally asked herself whether, 
having been ill-treated by two men, she could not 
find a measure of content in the third who adored 
her. Indeed, it was true that Bunbury was very 
handsome. The girls raved about him, while Sally 
protested peevishly that she did not love a beauty 
man. 

Perhaps she was decided by Lady Car Russell’s 
attempt to detach him from her. These two girls 
must always be antagonists. She began to look a 
little more kindly on his suit — to think of it as 
just possible. No word had come from Rome and 
they did not know that a tragedy had befallen 
there. 

Just before Christmas, 1761, Sally writes to her 
confidante, Lady Sue. It was a moment when she 
was fractious, sick to death of love and lovers. 

“ I find I forgot to answer your last in regard to 

Mr. B . He has (what is called) followed me 

constantly since I have been in town. I have not 
put myself in his way (d’ye take me?), for at 
Leicester House (en presence de ma sceur) I 
changed places three times and he followed me; 
at night I went with my sister to the play; there 
was he in the front boxes, and came at once to my 


130 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


house and corner; this you will allow is particular. 
My sister, who is quick at these sort of things, will 
have it that I shall have to answer his declaration 
immediately, but I think not; and why? Because 
that talking of people who married for money and 
rank and so forth, he said he had the comfort to 
think that if he married a fine lady she would love 
him vastly, for that he was so poor she must live 
on love and bread-and-butter with him. This I 
took as a hint he did not intend to ask me in spite 
of all that has gone by, and told him I thought 
he had much better not marry in a hurry, as he 
would not easy meet with such a person. At this 
he looked blank or angry or both, and I, I know, 
was very cross, so he departed after a farewell 
of freezing politeness, and I have not seen him 
since. 

“ His conversation is usually loud and on in- 
different subjects. He cares nothing for the arts. 
Of poetry I dare swear he has not read a line. But 
he knows as much of a horse as any jockey at New- 
market, and the dogs adore him. And, oh, Sue, 
he is handsome, and though he has no fineness of 
conversation and is unlettered as any pretty fellow 
of them all, he did show himself both delicate and 
sensible in the matter you know of. He is a young 


SALLY SEES A GHOST 


131 

man of parts, honest at heart, and I would wish to 
see him married to my dearest friend. 

“ He has free access to this house by coming to 
see Stephen and talking politics with Lord Holland. 

“ Adieu. If I see him before I send this I will 
write more, and if he says no more he is, according 
to my brother Holland, ‘ a shabby dog.’ No more 
or 110 less, for I am not sure what he means nor 
what I mean. My sister says he meant a kind of 
offer. What do you think? Do not show this to 
any one. I don’t know what I should say if he 
asked me outright. 

“ Pray in your answer call him the marquis, 
which is my name for him. He is so like a mar- 
quis in a French story-book that I delight in him. 
He is the prettiest French marquis ever was seen. 

“ Lord Shelbourne is here caccling, so I can write 
no more.” 

III 

On June second Sally was married to Mr. Bun- 
bury in the private chapel of Holland House, and 
went at once to her father-in-law’s house at Barton, 
Suffolk. 

IV 

Sally likes Barton vastly and has seen but few 


i3 2 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


of her neighbors, who let her go her own way, 
which she finds very comfortable. The country has 
hills not steep enough to make good walking — she 
has a fancy for breasting hills like a young pony — 
but good enough to be pretty. Yet she sighs for 
the Irish mountains as she remembers them from 
her brother Kildare’s house at Carton; and there 
are times when she finds herself singing the Irish 
song which made Lord Holland swear lest he should 
weep — 

“ Since my lover said adieu, 

I have roamed the wide world through, 

To heal the heart he broke in two, 

Is go dheid tu Mhuirnin sldn.” 

She is soon caught into her husband’s pursuits, 
and reports to Lady Sue — 

“ I must now tell you about Newmarket while 
it is in my head, and I will write about the fair 
when it is over. The Duke of Cumberland won 
two matches, and the Duke of Grafton a plate with 
a vile horse. Magpie ran and was beat. I saw 
him in the morning with his horses ; ’tis a dear soul. 
I lost my money. All the men wish you was here ; 
whatever I talk about they say, 4 Pray tell us some- 
thing of Lady Sue 9 ; nothing ever was like it. 


SALLY SEES A GHOST 


133 


“ Eve been teaching dear Poll. He says already : 
Avez-vous dejeuney ? quite pretty. My brother 
George has come and I have left him to tell club 

stories and Mr. B to listen to them while I 

write. I have written a great deal of small talk , 
as Mercadiie hath it; and so your servant.” 

V 

In October of that year Lord Holland is offered 
by Lord Bute the secretaryship of state and the 
leadership of the House of Commons. He de- 
clines the former, but accepts the latter. Sally 
writes to Lady Sue — 

“ Before I begin about the fair, let us talk of that 
incomprehensible thing, politics. Is not your 
uncle a goose for preferring the hurry and bustle 
of this new place to his own nonsensical quiet life? 
... To tell you about the fair, in short words I 
hate it all, and am tired to death. Sally has the 
vapors. She has headaches, heartaches. She lies 
down in a darkened room, and her pretty good man, 
with creaking shoes and the odor of the stables, 
comes in and lays his hand on Sally’s brow. He 
will talk baby-talk. ‘ How is ’oo to-day ? ’ he says, 
and Sally has to bite her lips to keep from scream^ 


134 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


in g. If only for one day he would not talk non- 
sensical I could love him ! Is not Sally a wretch ? 

“ But to the fair, which you will expect to hear 
about. And after all, Sally has not always the 
.vapors and her good man is very kind, more than 
she deserves, poor girl. In primis, my Lord 
Orrery is with us and went to the assembly; he is 
an agreeable sensible man and I like him vastly. 
Lord and Lady Petre, Mrs. Howard and many 
others of that lot are here; I danced with Lord 
Petre, and he is a nasty toad, for I longed to spit 
in his face! (Oh, Sally!) I was very civil, how- 
ever, to the rest, who I liked very well, so tell Mrs. 
Digby of my good deeds, not my bad ones, for 
’twas because of the Duchess of Norfolk I did not 
proceed to extremities with my partner. Your 
ladyship’s health was drunk by Mr. Rook wood Gage 
and young Metcalf, who is in love with you.” 

VI 

It will be obvious to those who know anything 
about Sally that at the time of writing this letter 
she was ill at ease. Indeed, it was the prelude to 
a somewhat bad breakdown in her health, by which 
Mr. Bunbury lost his hope of an heir. Not even 
to her dearest Sue did Sally confide the innermost 


SALLY SEES A GHOST 


135 

secrets of her heart. But her diary, kept with more 
or less assiduity, enlightens us. 

“ On October third,” she writes, “ I was walking 
in Kensington Gardens on my way to see my sister 
at Holland House. It w T as a stormy afternoon, and 
the leaves were drifted down with the gale; there 
was a piercing rain with every gust, so that few 
town ladies cared to be abroad. But I am not a 
town lady, and never shall be; and there was some- 
thing in my humor that was in tune with the 
wild heavens and the weeping wind. Oh, I have 
a prevision of rains yet to be: and I am desolee. 
Why should Sally be desolee , with a young hand- 
some husband to adore her, the dearest of homes 
and many delights? Mr. B was enjoying him- 

self at Newmarket and else Where. I had sat at 
home at Barton as long as I could endure it; but 
my poor devil of a horse was as lame as a dog, 
and while the gentlemen were abroad coursing, 
hunting and doing every pleasant thing on earth, 
I sat at home fretting and fuming, insufferably 
ennuyee with a parcel of dull women. They told 
me for my comfort that I should have to sit at home 
more and more for some time to come, which was 
a pretty prospect for poor Sal, who was abroad 
whatever weather there was, and liked nothing bet- 


136 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


ter than a hard day after the hounds and to come 
home ‘ dhreeped,’ as the dear Irish say, but happy 
and hungry. 

“ I was in that mood of discontent that I relaxed 
the vigilance I had observed over my thoughts since 
I became a wife; all of a sudden my sky was ob- 
scured, and the whole world dreary for William 
Gordon. Perhaps it had always been so only that 
I would not let it come into sight. 

“ Suddenly, far down the vista of the broad 
walk I saw a figure approaching, the air and the 
walk of which made me feel faint for a moment 
and then yield myself to an overmastering and 
careless passion of delight, forgetting that I owed 
duty elsewhere and sinned in yielding to such trans- 
ports. I had often been deceived before. More 
times than I can recall my heart has leaped up at 
the turn of a head, a distant view of a figure 
that was like his. Yet I think all the time I de- 
ceived myself wilfully in so far as I knew that if 
he really came I should have no doubt. 

“ It was he. As he came closer I saw the ravages 
that some intolerable grief had made in his face. 

“ * Oh, Sally ! ’ he said and held out his hand. I 
put mine into it and his was as cold as marble. He 


SALLY SEES A GHOST 


137 

sighed, and it was the sigh of one whose heart is 
broken. 

“ ‘ Oh, Sally/ he said, ‘ are you not sorry for 
me? ’ 

“ I did not know what he meant, but I guessed 
that Madame Coronna must be dead. I forgot 
everything but that he was the one love of my life 
and he was in bitter grief. 

“ ‘ Come and tell me/ I said, drawing him with 
me to the little tea-house in a glade of the gardens, 
deserted now that winter was upon us. 

“‘Tell me all/ I said; and I held his hand in 
mine, which was warm from the muff. I felt that 
I wanted to warm and shelter him; to comfort him 
would be enough; I did not think of myself. 

“‘You heard of that dear martyr, Sally ?’ he 
said. ‘ Of her dreadful death ? ’ 

“ He sobbed as he said it with his head turned 
away, and I knew the dreadfulness of a man’s tears. 

“ ‘ I have heard nothing/ said I. ‘ Nothing since 
you left me.’ 

“ ‘ But the news went everywhere,’ he returned, 
staring. ‘ It was in May he killed her. She al- 
ways knew he would kill her. He broke in with 
his murderers one night to her villa among its gar- 
dens. We were off-guard, for he had been re- 


138 rose of the garden 

ported to be sick to death — a lie to blind us. She 
was stabbed from head to foot She lived long 
enough, to see a priest, to forgive her murderers, to 
bid me come to you and be happy, a thousand times 
happier, she said, because I had been an unhappy 
woman’s one friend. Oh, Sally, there were tongues 
even to blacken that whiteness ; but she was pure as 
an angel in Heaven. No man could have an un- 
worthy thought of her. She was a woman for a 
man to adore selflessly, to serve with his life if needs 
be, but never, never to smirch wdth an unworthy 
passion/ 

“ I felt as though I were turned to stone. I had 
not heard the news. How I came not to have 
heard, God knows. Among those nearest there was 
a conspiracy of silence. How I failed to hear it by 
chance was one of the strange happenings of life. 
At the time I had married Mr. Bunbury William 
had been free to come to me. God knows I could 
have waited till he had outlived the first grief and 
horror. Now it was too late. 

“ * Was it not piteous? ’ he asked, as piteous him- 
self as a child. 

“ ‘ It was most dreadful/ I answered, moistening 
my dry lips. I felt that I must present a disordered 
aspect, but perhaps I did not. 


SALLY SEES A GHOST 


139 

“ 4 How sweet you are ! ’ he said, 4 with your hair 
ruffled by the wind and the rain on your cheek.’ 

“ Then I knew that I could have made life over 
again for him: and it was too late. I had to tell 
him. 

“ I think I must have sighed the heaviest sigh 
that ever was heard, for he spoke to me tenderly. 

“ ‘ Poor child,’ he said, ‘ do I oppress you with my 
griefs? I was on my way to look for you, Sal. 
I only landed two days ago. I’ve been creeping 
about in the sun trying to get rid of that horror. 
I think I am my own man again. If Sally would 
but put out her little warm fingers to help me, to 
save me, why, I might begin to live again.’ 

“ I do not know how I broke it to him that I was 
married; but in his anger, his despair, I learned 
at last that I should have had nothing to fear from 
the poor dead lady. 

“ I will not dwell upon it, the storm which broke 
upon us and by which we were bent. I can feel the 
rain on my face still, or was it his tears? I think 
I was mad. He did not ask me to go with him, 
or I should have gone, forgetting duty and honor 
and love and the excellent religious principles in 
which I was brought up . . . ! 

“ I have been very ill. Now I am well again, 


140 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

only very cross and sick of the world. My husband 
is patient when he is with me, and he is not angry be- 
cause his hopes have been disappointed. He cried 
over the little creature, and I had no tears. I look 
at his young smooth face. Many women would 
adore him; when I can bear with him I am very 
fond of him. But he is much away. Perhaps he 
had no real need of a wife. His dogs and horses 
are enough. Oh, fatal second of June! Oh, un- 
happy Sally ! ” 


CHAPTER X 

FROM SALLY IN TOWN TO SUSAN IN THE COUNTRY 

I 

S ALLY is too wholesome a creature to keep cry- 
ing for the moon. Mr. Bunbury perhaps finds 
out that he is neglecting his lovely wife. He is 
going to Lord Or ford’s, and Sally goes with him — 
“ Though my heart is broke,” she says, “ I die to go 
coursing.” 

She has her animals and she has some ambitions 
left. Mr. Bunbury desires to be appointed Irish 
Chief Secretary. How they would have adored 
Sally — that nation which adores beauty and wit 
and breeding and grace, and snaps its fingers at 
money-bags! He was appointed three years later 
by Lord Weymouth, but the ministry went out be- 
fore they could embark: Lord Rockingham’s party 
came in and the appointment fell through. 

II 

“ My dear Lady Sue, — 

“ I will answer your delightful silly letter, 


142 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


for silly it is to be sure, but you know ’tis not the 
worse, but the better for that in my opinion. As 
to politics, I have renounced them and their vani- 
ties, for ’tis only wlishing for what one can’t have 
and expecting that one don’t get. The short of 
the moral is that I am mad to think there is no likeli- 
hood of my being Madame la Secretaire. Let me 
tell you of two events that have happened in the 
sporting way. Snap is given away, because he was 

not a good dog, forsooth. Pray scold Mr. B 

when you see him, for ’tis a burning shame. The 
next is that I have a dog and a horse lent me, both 
of which I purpose keeping by good or bad means. 
The horse Mr. Vane lent me, and is without excep- 
tion the dearest thing I ever saw, though ’tis not 
handsome nor a bred one : in short, every one says I 
ought to keep it, and indeed I think so and intend 
to do so. The dog is a spaniel so like Rose ’tis 
taken for her by all the servants, but though its per- 
son is like, its education has been such that he is as 
clever as Le Chein Savant, for, put a dozen things 
together, he will bring what you bid him, provided 
’tis what he had heard the name of before. 

“ I have begun my dear plantation by the gar- 
den wall, and it’s a beautiful creature : I have planted 
all the trees you bid me and others that I have 


FROM SALLY TO SUSAN 


143 


thought of. I have fished out two cedars as high 
as a chair, and they flourish charmingly : is not that 
a treasure? 

“ I had a letter from Mr. B.’s aunt, Mrs. Hand- 
asyde, in which she tells me that Princess Augusta 
walked all about the palace with a Miss Holland 
who lives with Mrs. Handasyde. She asked her 
what Mrs. Handasyde’s name was before her mar- 
riage. 4 Bunbury/ says Miss H. 4 She was a sis- 
ter of Sir William Bunbury/ Princess Augusta: 
4 I think I have seen a Miss Bunbury at court. I 
think I know the family/ Miss H, : 4 Sure Your 
Royal Highness must have heard of Mr. Bunbury 
who married Lady S. Lennox/ at which Miss Au- 
gusta colored up so violent, looked so angry and 
gave no answer, that Miss H., poor girl, was like to 
be in hysterics. Did you ever hear of such a toad 
as ’tis? 

44 1 have been a-hunting with Mr. Verney, and I 
hunted twelve miles one day, which tired me to such 
a degree that I was as sick as a dog; and though 
I had not eat enough to keep life and soul together, 
for ’twas not a bit since eight o’clock till six at 
night, I could not even touch a sausage, but went 
straight to bed. That has cured me of being out 
so long, but not of going for one chase or two. 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


144 

which I would do this minute but that this devil of 

a frost hinders me, so Mr. B and I sit scolding 

and grumbling, he because he can’t course, and I 
because I can’t hunt, and that I fear ’twill kill my 
dear cedars. That is the present state of affairs 
in this house.” 


Ill 

The next letter is from Holland House. Sally 
has been to court. 

December 24th, 1762. 

“ I went last Thursday to court through an 
immense mob and like to be killed in my chair, 
and when I arrived I met the Queen coming out, 
but no King, for he went to the House of Lords in 
his odious fine coach, which created a greater mob 
than the coronation. This put me too much out of 
humor to bide there, but I went to-day and I was 
graciously received by His Majesty. The King 
asked me if I had not had fine weather all the 
summer. ‘ Yes,’ said I, and that was all. I went 
to see the little arrival, and I kissed it, for ’tis a 
beautiful, strong, handsome child, and my sister 
said it was wrong to kiss it, and the nurse repri- 
manded me for calling it a child , and said it was a 
fine young prince. But for politics I might have 


FROM SALLY TO SUSAN 


145 

been its mother ; and then it would have been hand- 
somer. 

“ The Duchess of Grafton was there too, and 
having left red and white quite off, she is one of the 
coursest brown women ever I saw: her person is 
better though. Mrs. Digby, with her usual good- 
ness, says you are so altered that she is afraid you 
have quite lost your complexion, etc., but she was 
in the wrong box, for neither my sister nor me saw 
the least alteration in you. Lady Garlise and Lady 
F. Harper were there together, both in white and 
silver, both powdered, both little and prettyish, in 
short, they looked like two little fairies. Mr. Pitt 
has the gout and soar throat and a fever. 

“ Fve told you everything I could think of, and 
if you’re diverted I’m satisfied. My brother Hol- 
land is hurrying me to death to get out of his chair 
in which I am sitting and writing, so adieu.” 

IV 

“ Holland House, Wednesday, 

December 30th, 1762. 

“ My dearest Lady Susan, 

“ I would not write as I had nothing to say be- 
fore now. 

“ My sister bids me tell you you must not wear 


146 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


such a pretty cap as a pearl one in the country and 
forbid my ordering one (for I can't make it). I 
easily agreed to it, for the duchess had taken my 
cap for a pattern, but now that Lord Shelbourne is 
going to the Bath and may chance to see you I will 
order it. 

“ My sister has got Lord Albemarle’s picture, all 
in panoply. Is not that charming? 

“ I wish you would come to town, but I fear ye 
charms of Somersetshire will keep you longer than 
I wish you to stay. 

“ Charles Fox came to the play last night, coitfe 
en ailes de pigeon and powdered. 

“ I'm soupe avec Monsieur de Nivernois, Monsieur 
d f Usson, etc., etc., chez Monsieur d’Aubigne 1’ autre 
jour. Madame la Duchess n’a pas dit un mot de 
Frangois. On m’ assure que Monsieur d’Usson est 
charme de moi. Je dois passer une semaine d Good- 
wood avec lui et beaucoup d y autres: il y a id un 
gentilhomme, Monsieur Drungoold, ne en Irelande, 
mais qui a passe sa vie en France; il me fait mille 
compliments. 

tf Adieu, Mademoiselle! Je me suis epuisee en 
nouvelles, et it faut avouer que vous n’avez jamais 
regu me lettre plus vraiment possedee que cellec-y 
de vottre tres obeissante amie. f> 


FROM SALLY TO SUSAN 


147 


V 

“Holland House, January 4th, 1763. 

“ Thursday Night. 

“ Dear Lady Sue, 

“ Sitting by the quadrille-table where Mrs. Gre- 
ville, Charles, Lord Holland and my sister are play- 
ing, you must expect to hear about their games: 
my sister has just won a mediator vole in favorite 
in the double tour. She bids me tell you she is 
vastly tired of not seeing you. Mr. Bunbury is 
gone to Woburn, and I am called the widow, and 
my brother Holland exercises his wit upon the oc- 
casion. This cold weather keeps him very weak. 
Pray, are you absorbed in thought or reading or 
what, for you never favor your friends with your 
news.” 


VI 

Sally spends a great part of that year in town, 
either at Holland House or a little house of her 
own at Westminster: by October she is back again 
at Barton, with more leisure for her correspondence 
and with a prospect of returning to town, since 
Mr. Bunbury must attend the winter session of 
parliament. She is really enjoying the country life, 


148 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


although she gives that rustic, Sue, some London 
news, beginning her country tale — 

“ Mr. Garrick (sweet soul) is gone for some time 
to Italy: the playhouse goes on the same and has 
only some additional forces, particularly a Mr. 
Powell who, I hear, is a very good recruit for 
tragedy — and Foote — in short, it will flourish very 
well for one winter till that angel comes back. 

“ You have made a mighty pretty discovery, 
Miss, truly — ‘ I can think there is happiness in ye 
country with a person one loves/ Pray now who 
the devil would not be happy, with a pretty place, 
a good house, good horses, greyhounds, etc., for 
hunting, so near Newmarket, what company you 
please in ye house and two thousand pounds a year 
to spend? Add to this that I have a settled com- 
fortable feel that I am doing so right that all my 
friends approve me and are with me as much as 
possible; in short, that I have not one single thing 
on earth to be troubled about on my own account. 
Pray now, where is the great oddity of that, or the 
wretch who would not be happy? 

“ Now for news ! Of Suffolk it must be, for I 
know no other. Newmarket was charming: all the 
charming men were there. Dear Mr. Meynell lost 
sums of money on a horse of my brother’s, beat 


FROM SALLY TO SUSAN 


149 


by ye little mare Hermoine, of Mr. Calvert: its 
name was Goodwood and got by Brilliant: but I 
hear he has made up all his losses again at cards 
at Euston, where the duke and all the Newmarket 
set are: he, a fat wretch , has won everything on 
earth; poor dear Mr. Greville has lost: Sir John 
Moore has lost near five thousand pounds between 
Quinze and horses. Lord Orford has taken to 
hawking larks; it's pretty if ’twas not so cruel, for 
the hawks are little, little things and very tame. 

“ I must just tell you one thing that will divert 
you. Lord Villiers, that little toad, pretends to be 
seriously in love with me : he is a very good actor, 
for his likeness never made better love, or rather 
looked it better (for I insisted on his not speaking 
whether in joke or earnest) ; he is so like him when 
he makes les yeux doux and sighs, it is quite ridicu- 
lous: you would be in love with his looks, I assure 
you.” 

Lord Villiers , love-making doubtless was mod- 
eled on the King’s. Sally’s heart, or pride, are 
long healed of that wound. If all else were as well 
with her! 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


150 


VII 

There was a deal of play-acting at Holland 
House, with other diversions, in the winter of 
1763-4, and Lady Sarah and Lady Susan were 
among the bright particular stars of the drama. 
Horace Walpole was a frequent guest, and writes — 

“ I was most diverted and excessively amused on 
Tuesday. There was a play at Holland House, 
acted by children — not all children, for Lady Sarah 
Bunbury and Lady Susan Strangways played the 
women. It was Jane Shore. Mr. Price, Lord 
Barrington’s nephew, was Gloster, and acted better 
than three parts of the comedians; Charles Fox, 
Hastings; a little Nichols, Belmour; Lord Ophaly, 
Lord Ashbrooke, and other boys did the rest; but 
the two girls were delightful, and acted with so 
much simplicity and nature that they appeared the 
very things they represented, and Lady Sarah was 
more beautiful than you can conceive, and her very 
awkwardness gave an air of truth to the sham of 
the part and the antiquity of the time which was 
kept up by her dress, taken out of Montfaucon. 
Lady Susan was dressed from Jane Seymour: and 
all the parts were clothed in ancient habits and 


FROM SALLY TO SUSAN 


151 

with the most minute propriety. I was more struck 
with the last scene between the two- women than 
ever I was when I have seen it on the stage. When 
Lady Sarah was in white, with that beautiful dark 
hair of hers about her ears and on the ground, 
no Magdalen by Correggio was ever half so lovely 
and expressive.” 


VIII 

It was remarked at the time, somewhat to the 
annoyance of Lord and Lady Ilchester, that Lady 
Susan's love-scenes with Mr. William O'Brien were 
so true to life that 'twas impossible not to believe 
them real. Mr. O’Brien was a brilliant and at- 
tractive young Irishman, without fortune and of 
ancestry which went back to the Flood. To him 
the English aristocracy were mushrooms of yester- 
day. In fact, his genealogical tree, which he car- 
ried with him wherever he went, proved the descent 
of the O’Briens from Adam with not a hiatus be- 
tween. 

He was gay, he was tender, he was good, he was 
a man of parts, but he had not a stiver. Only his 
charm and brilliancy had brought him into the so- 
ciety of Holland House where these qualities were 
passports. 


152 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


Sally was in the secret long before any one else 
suspected it. She writes in her diary — 

“ Lord, I could laugh. Here have I been preach- 
ing wisdom by the yard to my sweet music, Sue. 
If she could only look within me and know of what 
folly I am capable if but I had the chance! Per- 
haps she does. She sends me a glance from her 
dear little sly eyes sometimes and I am mum- 
chance. Lord and Lady Ilchester would never for- 
give it : I pray that prudence may prevail with Sue 
if not duty. She says her duty is to Mr. O’Brien. 
I could bless them if it were not for prudence. 
Sally, a matron these two years back, must pretend 
a prudence if she has it not.” 

Again : “ There has been a prodigious scene. 

They have charged Sue with her partiality for the 
Irish beggar, as Lord Ilchester calls Mr. O’Brien 
in his wrath. The little baggage has been obstinate, 
stormed, defended her choice. I adore her for it. 
Presently my Lady Ilchester has a spasm of the 
heart which brings poor Sue to her knees. She 
promises to give up her lover rather than incom- 
mode her mother’s heart. N.B. — I believe my 
Lady Ilchester’s heart is as sound as my own ! ” 

A couple of months later : “ She is being painted 

by Miss Read. We are all flocking to Miss Read 


FROM SALLY TO SUSAN 


153 

to get our phizes done since Her Majesty set us 
the example. She is being painted in white satin 
trimmed with bands of sable, and a beaver hat, the 
strings of Mechlin. I do not like it. Read shall 
not have me. She makes Sue a dowager. Why 
not Mr. Reynolds? The picture he made of me 
and Susan and Charles Fox is a sweet thing. It 
was mobbed at the Academy.” 

In April there is another entry : “I am shocked 
at Sue: I am vastly diverted with Sue: I am de- 
lighted with Sue, and will stand by her against the 
world. She has eloped with O’Brien. She parted 
with him forever on the first of April, which was 
last Monday and a very proper day for the per- 
formance. She obtained permission for a last meet- 
ing, and they were in each other’s arms for an hour. 
I wonder at Lord and Lady Ilchester! Sue is a 
puss: she has a will of her own. This morning, 
the sixth, she left the house to breakfast with me, 
she said, attended by a footman. She was to go on 
to Read’s for a sitting. A couple of streets off she 
found she had forgot her beaver, and sends back 
the footman, who is young and new from the coun- 
try, to fetch it to Read’s. Hardly is he round the 
corner when there comes up a hackney coach with 
O’Brien inside it. They are off to Covent Garden 


154 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


Church, where they get spliced, and they have made 
a run for it to Dunstable, where Mr. O’Brien has 
a villa. The hackney-coachman has turned in- 
former. Lord Ilchester tears his hair. His lady 
is in hysterics. Sue is in Paradise. They will 
hardly believe that I did not abet her flight. I must 
sit down now and write to Sue, concealing from 
her how much in my heart I am with her. The 
Ilchesters would have a very bad opinion of me 
if they knew how much.” 


IX 

Sally writes a letter of exquisite tenderness, with 
counsels of sober wisdom in between, for she fore- 
sees that Lady Susan will not be forgiven and will 
be left to lie on the bed she has made for herself ; 
and that there will be poverty hard on the heels of 
the honeymoon. 

“As I can not see you, my dear, as often as I 
wish, I must write, for though seeing you puts me in 
spirits, they now quite sink to think I can not go 
to you the moment you want me. Indeed, I love 
you more than I thought I was capable of loving 
anybody: how melancholy I shall be without you, 
my love ; I miss you everywhere.” 

Sally foresees that the time will come when her 


FROM SALLY TO SUSAN 


155 


friend w^ll have to count the cost, the tender par- 
ents wounded and estranged, the loss of friends 
and position, the poverty, and foretells that love 
will be enough for Sue as it would be for herself. 

“ I think Mr. Bunbury’s love and attention would 
make me happy whatever happened to me. It doesn’t 
prevent me feeling miserable at times; but I think 
from what I feel myself you may expect great happi- 
ness. When my spirits are good all situations are 
equal to me with a person I love, and the more I 
have to employ my attention and time the better 
my spirits are; besides, you are not nice, and you 
have sense enough to find amusement in anything. 
I wish your temper may be like mine in regard to 
money, for, believe me, were I to hear at this mo- 
ment I was to live on two hundred pounds a year 
it would not give me a minute’s uneasiness but w r ith 
regard to its vexing Mr. Bunbury: and my vanity, 
which is a fault in itself, would help me then by 
making me show the world I could be happy in any 
life and bear any inconvenience with a man I love. 

. . . Can you, my love, think I would give you up, 
or that Mr. B. loves me so little as not to feel the 
distress you are in? . . . 

“ I have written a great deal and have not said 
half I had to say: but it is like our conversations 


156 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

which never cease. Don’t show' this to Charles or 
to Mr. O’Brien, because I don’t love to have my 
letters read by anybody but those they are written to. 
I ought not to except your husband, but he doesn’t 
know me enough yet, nor is he partial enough to 
read my letters, for they require a partial friend. 
You are one, my love, that I can trust with my 
faults. God bless you, my dear soul. Think that 
I love you the more, the more you want my love. 
Adieu, my sweet dear.” 


X 

“ ’Tis well,” confides Sally to her diary, “ that I 
may comfort poor Sue, seeing that but for the 
goodness of God and the virtue of one I dare not 
think upon, I might be in a position to-day to re- 
quire all pity and all affection far more than she, 
the pretty mouse.” 


CHAPTER XI 

WHAT A THING FRIENDSHIP IS 

I 

S ALLY, in the eagerness of her friendship, over- 
reaches her own good endeavors. She pre- 
cipitates a meeting between Mr. William O’Brien, 
her husband, now Sir Charles Bunbury, and Lady 
Holland, the last two of whom were naturally on 
the side of the aggrieved parents and against “the 
Irish adventurer” who had been the cause of all 
the trouble. Sally pleads so prettily for her friend’s 
pardon that I must quote her, since it is one of the 
things by which we love her, by which she lives 
again. 

“ Sir Charles says he would do anything to oblige 
you, for believe me he loves you very sincerely. 
I could not help telling him you were hurt at his 
behavior to Mr. O’Brien, and that he might have 
obliged you without doing anything contrary to 
Lord Holland’s opinion, which is a law for him. 
He had no very good excuse to make for himself, 
but his being so excessively vexed and unhappy at 


158 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


having hurt you was, in my opinion, a much bet- 
ter excuse than any, as it showed the goodness of 
his heart, and he can not bear to think he has of- 
fended or mortified you in anything, particularly 
in so delicate a point. I was the innocent cause of 
it, for my great eagerness (now that I had got 
leave to see you) to bring about seeing Mr. O’Brien 
too, made my sister and Sir Charles more violent 
than they would naturally be about it, and you 
know that a fit of contradiction makes both sides 
exaggerate; but though Sir Charles was more ob- 
stinate about this than I have ever seen him, the 
moment his heart was moved by thinking he had 
vexed you he relented, and vowed that he did what 
he now thinks was very unkind, and there is nothing 
he would not do to make it up to you. He desires 
me to tell you this, and to tell both you and Mr. 
O’Brien that he very sincerely asks your pardon. 
Do, my sweet Sue, forgive him and love him for 
my sake, for indeed he deserves your love and I 
should be miserable if you disliked him. I am sure 
I have set you the example, for as I know you will 
make Mr. O’Brien rather partial to me, and that 
your fondness for him and his for you is so great 
that altogether I look on him as my friend just as 
much as you; and of course I make myself his 


WHAT FRIENDSHIP IS 


159 


champion on every occasion, and defend him, not 
only about his match, but his manner, his prudence, 
etc., in fact everything I think and everything I 
do not think, for I have no notion of allowing my 
friend has any faults to those that don’t love them 
full as well as I do.” 

II 

Sally writes in her diary: “I have just been 
writing to poor sweet Sue, making my husband’s 
apologies handsomer than he would have done it. 
Pretty creature! I would do more than that for 
her. Sir Charles is furious because she chose the 
Irishman, as he will call him — he has not learned to 
love the country as well as I do — before Charles 
Fox, who is magnanimous to the last degree. I 
am in secret agreement with Sir Charles. Mr. 
O’Brien is a very pretty fellow, but not to be com- 
pared to my nephew Charles, who has a spirit, a 
grace, a sprightliness, a wit that mark him out from 
the other young men of the day. He is an elegant 
creature; and there is something about his bright 
eyes and dark hair that have always delighted me. 
However, Charles, and the King’s brother and all 
the other gentlemen must go by the board when the 
Irishman whistles. Charles has prevailed on Lord 


i6o 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


Holland to allow the pretty creature four hundred 
pounds a year, which I think is downright hand- 
some. After all, the puss is not to be pitied. She 
has the thing which of all on earth is most worth 
having. Poor Sally has a husband who loves her 
nearly as well as he loves the best mare in his 
stables.” 


Ill 

Lady Susan and her Irishman sail overseas for 
America, where Lord Holland has procured them 
a grant of land. Sally writes to her friend in the 
backwoods, giving her bits and scraps of the life 
she has given up for love. Apparently she fetches 
and carries for her friend other than gossip. 

“ That devil Mr. Coates has not finished your 
picture yet. I took your papers to Mr. Touchet. I 
want to know if I am to do anything about your 
tambour. I have heard nothing of your stuffs yet. 

“ Mr. Touchet writes me word you did not see 
your mother; I can’t write to her about it, I think, 
though I long to know if she sent to you. 

“ Pray, have you any objection to my calling you 
Netty, for it’s a sweet pretty name, and it’s more 
natural to my tongue than Susan. I shall take the 
liberty before I have your answer. Netty, then, 


WHAT FRIENDSHIP IS 161 

only think how happy I shall be at Newmarket next 
week, if Sir Charles’s mare Hermione wins the 
match. The Duke of Grafton’s Antinous runs two 
matches. Pray do you like to hear of Newmarket? 
I have heard from Mrs. Greville from Spa. ‘ The 
ballroom is absolutely a masquerade; some are in 
large hats which Lady Mary Coke has taught them 
to turn up behind, saying it is the custom with us ; 
others are curled up to the top of their heads, and 
we had a little Princess Sapirka from Poland that 
wore a Turkish habit and her head French; and if 
you could but hear the noise and clatter we all 
make with our different languages, you might have 
a pretty good idea of the building of Babel. Pray 
don’t laugh at me when I come back, for I have 
the Irish brogue on one side of my tongue and the 
French on the other.* 

“ Mr. Touchet tells me you did not sail till the 
wintry weather ceased. I rejoice in this sweet 
weather for your sake. I have begun my gown : it 
is vastly pretty, and I love it vastly; the stripes 
go on like lightning, but the flowers are a little 
tedious. I gave Lady Emily Hervey a print of 
your picture. She has written under it : ‘ The 

prettiest creature of the world.’ 

“ Pray give my compliments to Mr. O’Brien and 


1 62 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

tell him I shall keep his sweet little book for his 
sake; that whenever I look at it I shall remember 
when we were together, and he seemed to adore 
you, and whenever I think of that I shall love him, 
not forgetting how pretty he looked when he gave 
it to me.” 

IV 

“Barton, October nth, 1764. 

“ I am in the utmost anxiety and impatience to 
hear of my dearest Netty’s arrival; next month I 
do hope will bring me news of you, my dear soul, 
for believe me I do love you beyond what I can 
express. The weather has been pretty good, and 
Mr. Touchet assures me you have had a good voy- 
age. He is a dear man, for he tells me everything 
about you. How I long for a letter from you, my 
love ! 

“ My gown is beautiful. I like it most exces- 
sively, and find that the French gold works so well 
that it is the pleasantest work I ever did, it’s so 
quick. 

“ The race at Euston was the prettiest thing I 
ever saw: I doted upon it, for I rode on my beau- 
tiful Weazle, who was gentle enough to let me 
gallop backward and forward, so I saw the whole 


WHAT FRIENDSHIP IS 


163 

course. Sir Charles is quite a determined horse- 
racer, and I must say I am glad to have all the 
pretty creatures here.” 


V 

“ Lord Carlisle has been here from Cambridge,” 
she writes : “ he is grown very tall, and is really 

the most agreeable young man I ever saw. I mean 
as to his manners, for I am not enough acquainted 
with him to judge of his sense; but he has the most 
remarkable attention and politeness to women I 
ever saw in anybody, and that is very pleasing at 
his age, for I can’t help looking upon him as a 
schoolboy for the life of me, though he is such a 
great creature.” 

Sally has a deal of fashionable gossip. Her 
pages read like Debrett. Here and there something 
stands out beyond the category of the fine people, 
their love-affairs, engagements, marriages, divorces, 
lyings-in. There is news of Sue’s two lovers who 
have forgotten her. “ The Duke of Gloucester is 
desperately in love with Lady Waldegrave; it’s a 
falling off, I think, from your little cunning face 
to her insensibility. . . . Charles is in town, and 
is violently in love with the Duchess of Hamilton. 
He is all humbleness and respect and never leaves 


164 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


her. I am vastly glad to see him improve so much ; 
he is now very manly and very much liked, I think, 
in the world ; he is a sweet boy, and I hope will con- 
tinue as amiable as he is.” 

VI 

There is one name Sally never mentions, yet we 
find oblique references to its possessor. Lady Susan 
was somewhat in her confidence, and has been giv- 
ing her good advice, a pretty turning of the tables, 
for Sally had hitherto been the mentor, although 
against her will, for she has been chosen to convey 
to Lady Susan the strictures of her family on her 
extravagance, an office which must have been sorely 
against the grain. Sally takes her friend’s advice 
sweetly, as is her way : “ I am as much displeased 

at my giddiness as anybody can be; but I flatter 
myself that with a little attention I shall have no 
reason to be angry with myself on the same subject, 
for I have thought very seriously lately, and I don’t 
see why I should behave like a silly vain fool when 
I am not one. You see, I commend myself, but 
really I may say so much when at the same time 
I own that my sense is of no use to me: I am 
ashamed to own it, and I think it so wrong that I 
do firmly intend to be more exact in my behavior.” 


WHAT FRIENDSHIP IS 165 

One can only guess at what indiscretion may have 
caused Sue’s rebuke and Sally’s peccavi. 

VII 

Sally makes a friend of an old lover. 

“ Lord Newbattle is come to England with Lady 
George, which puts me in the way of seeing him a 
good deal. He is very much improved and grown 
wiser; I think we avoid each other a good deal, 
but he told me he hoped I did not take it as a sign 
of being at all angry with me, for that it was only 
to avoid any reports there might be made of our 
talking together. I told him it was the very same 
case with me: so thereupon we shook hands and 
promised always to take each other’s part if we were 
abused upon any subject; but to have little or no 
conversation together. My sister Holland told 
Louisa that she had observed me and Lord N., and 
that it was impossible to behave better than I did; 
so do you see, Netty, I am very pert upon this good 
behavior of mine, and it’s so pleasant to feel one 
does right that I never intend to feel otherwise 
again.” 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


1 66 


VIII 

“Paris, May 8th, 1765. 

“ I arrived here this day sennight, my dear Netty, 
and am so taken up with everything that I do not 
know where I am. In the first place the town is 
beautiful and the people so genteel that it’s a real 
amusement to drive about the streets. I have seen 
no beauties yet, for there being no assemblies, ’tis 
ten to one if I should see them before I went if 
’twas not for Marli where the court now is, and I 
am to see the King play at cards. Louisa is here. 
She and I go back in a month to England. Stephen 
and Charles are with us: we had a very pleasant 
journey, and I should like it vastly if my dear Sir 
Charles were here too, but I own I am so impatient 
to get back that it takes off my pleasure. The 
Ambassador and Lady Hereford are very civil. 
There was never anything so beautiful as their 
house; it is quite a palace, even here where the 
style of houses in general is charming in my opin- 
ion. ’Tis true they are inconvenient and dirty, but 
for one’s own apartments they are delightful. In 
the first place they are upon the ground floor, and 
have every one a garden (where there are horse- 
chestnuts for shade) ; the rooms are large, the win- 


WHAT FRIENDSHIP IS 


167 


dows immense and all down to the ground, the 
furniture very fine (if new), for there are com- 
modes even in our lodgings and looking-glasses in 
every part of the room, and very large ones. The 
houses are dirty and cold, but yet I own I like the 
style of them infinitely.” 

IX 

Sally tells Lord Holland how well she was re- 
ceived at Marli: “We luckily saw the King and 
royal family, but perhaps you have not heard the 
story about in Paris of how the King embraced me 
twice, and one of the seigneurs said, ‘ En verite, 
c’est trop , Sire / ‘ Je ne sais si c’est trop, mais je 

sais que ga me plait.’ says the King. Was it not 
charming ? ” 

Lady Louisa Conolly further reports to Lord 
Holland : “ I must tell you that Sally learns to 

dance and be graceful from a famous dancing mas- 
ter here: I think he will spoil her, for she walks 
with such an air. She and I went to St. Cyr the 
other day, and one of the nuns told us that if we 
would kneel and pray to the relicts of a saint that 
there was there we should have children, for that 
the Danphine had never had any children till she 
did, so you may be sure we immediately began our 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


1 68 

prayer ; and if we succeed we will send the Duchess 
of Richmond there.” 


X 

A little later Sally writes to Sue, blaming herself 
for her “ intolerable idolence,” which has been 
the cause of her not writing. “ I recollect that I 
wrote to you in a monstrous passion once,” she 
says. “ I totally forget what I said, but I know that 
I have since changed my opinion about many 
things that then appeared very different to me. I 
trust, however, my sweetest Netty, that you’ve 
forgiven me, for you know me too well not to know 
that when I am angry I am more absurd than any- 
body, for I write and say every nonsensical thing 
that enters my head. But I need not make myself 
uneasy, for I feel that I love you too well for you to 
doubt it. I am in very low spirits just now. Oh, 
Sue, your poor Sal has a heart ill at ease ! ” 

Sally is out of spirits, but presently she has re- 
covered and is gossiping away as cheerfully as of old. 
Charles James Fox who has been inconstant since 
Lady Sue jilted him, is in love again, not with 
Mademoiselle Coislin with whom he ought to be 
in love, but with another lass. Sally always laughs 
at this nephew who so much resembles herself. 


WHAT FRIENDSHIP IS 


169 


“ Do you know the impudent toad made love to 
both at a time ? ” she says, and you hear the laugh- 
ter in the voice that has been stilled a hundred 
years. “ I told him he was too young for such 
schemes and would fail in both, but he trusted to 
the ladies’ characters, and I believe he may succeed. 
Stephen and I are grown violent friends; Charles 
is vastly jealous and abuses me for it; but there is 
no reason, for I must always love him, he is such 
an amiable creature.” 

She harks back to the Paris visit for her dearest 
Sue — 

“ We were at L’lle d’Adam, a place of the Prince 
de Conty’s ; it’s very pretty and an agreeable house ; 
Madame Bouffler does the honors there. The 
prince is the most agreeable man that ever was: he 
is about forty-seven. He is like my father’s pic- 
ture, but handsomer: in short, he is delightful. 
Louisa and I both dote upon him, for there is no 
sort of attention he did not show us. If we don’t 
go to Ireland Sir Charles promises I shall go to see 
him again: he goes with me to Paris the end of 
this year.” 


170 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


XI 

Sally has somewhat to say of the French beau- 
ties. 

“ There are very few' handsome women in Paris. 
The Duchess de la Valliere, who is fifty-two, is the 
handsomest woman I saw, but indeed she is extra- 
ordinary. Her face is now as beautiful as an angel's 
and looks only twenty-five; her person is bad, but 
she hides that with a cloak. The Princess of Mon- 
aco is reckoned a great beauty there, but here she 
would only be a very pretty woman; her face is 
round and flat, but her countenance is meek and 
sweet; her complexion is very fine, and her figure 
the most perfect made of any woman in the world. 
She is the only lady who doesn’t wear rouge, for all 
the rest daub themselves so horribly that it’s shock- 
ing. Madame d’Egmont is the next beauty; she 
has a pretty Chinese face, is very affected and 
fashionable, and so is made a beauty. The Princess 
of Chimay, who is not reckoned a beauty, is my 
favorite; she is quite unaffected and simple in her 
manner, her figure is like Lady Mary Fitzpatrick’s, 
but taller ; her head is like the Gunnings ; her com- 
plexion good if she did not ruin it, her eyes are small 
and dark and she has regular small features. She 


WHAT FRIENDSHIP IS 


I 7 I 

has a noddle with her head that makes some people 
reckon her like me. She is a sweet sensible little 
woman, and my cousin, for she is the Duke of Fitz- 
james’ daughter.” 


XII 

“ Barton, July 6th, 1765. 

“ I came from Woburn the other day with 
Madame Bouffler and brought her to Newmarket 
and here. She is just gone. She liked Newmarket 
vastly. There was a meeting of two days this year 
to see the sweetest little horse run that ever was; 
his name is Gimcrack : he is delightful. Lord Rock- 
ingham, the Duke of Grafton and General Conway 
kissed hands the day Gimcrack ran; I must say I 
was more anxious about the horse than the min- 
istry, which sounds odd, for Sir Charles loses four 
thousand pounds a year by the secretary’s pay. . . . 
I will give orders about your flower-roots and things 
very soon. I wish you would not leave it to me to 
choose what you’d have. It’s the most difficult 
thing in the world; but if I must, the thing I’d 
choose for myself would be a very good horse; if 
the expense of keeping it is not an objection I think 
it a very good thing, but pray tell me your choice 
sincerely. 


1 72 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“I have bought you a little French white china 
cup. I think it very pretty, but if you would like 
a colored one better you shall have it, if they come 
safely through the customs and are not all broke. 
I would have bought you something else, but tea- 
things I know you have, and upon my word china 
is so dear, and I spend so much more than I mean, 
that I am quite ruined, and now the good place has 
gone it’s really serious. Adieu, my dearest Netty.” 


CHAPTER XII 


THE PASSING SHOW 

I 

COULD not bear Redlinch where I stayed 

JL one night only; and even at Melbury you 
were not free from my thoughts one moment. I do 
assure you I spent much of my time in looking at 
your picture by Ramsay that hung in the closet to 
the chintz room, where I slept. I can not think that 
my dear Netty will long doubt my love for her. 

“How beautiful Melbury is! All the orange- 
trees and mirtles are delightful; and the wood is 
the sweetest place I ever saw in my life.” 

II 

Sally and Sue have a lover’s quarrel, but between 
October 1765 and January 1766 have had time to 
make it up. They are always falling out — like 
lovers, says Mr. O’Brien : always making up. 
We are in the dark as to the cause of these quarrels. 
Is it some folly in Sarah which her friend would 
fain put an end to, and has Sarah, having made 
i73 


174 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


confession, refused amendment? I spare you the 
kisses and cries of reconciliation. 

“ I am very glad you told me about the horse, for 
I am so horse-mad that I thought it was impossible 
but you must like it, and had got one for you. I 
allow the chaise is much more useful, and have 
ordered one. . . . You shall receive it at New York 
as soon as possible, with the harness and the car- 
riage paid for. 

“ I find my sister Holland has sent you the 
flowers; indeed I have a thousand pardons to ask 
you, for I own I had totally forgot them, but if 
you will write me word if you want the narcissuses 
and hyacinths, I will take care that you have them 
with the pots for next year. 

“ As for the fashions, such figures as are seen at 
public places are not to be described. I am sorry 
for our English taste, but so it is. However it is, 
as you may imagine, very vulgar to dress so. I 
think that by degrees the French dress is coming 
into fashion, though ’tis almost impossible to make 
the ladies understand that heads bigger than one’s 
body are ugly; it is growing the fashion to have 
the heads moutone . I have cut off my hair, and 
find it very convenient in the country without 
powder, because my hair curls naturally, but it’s 


THE PASSING SHOW 


175 


horrid troublesome to have it well curled; if it's 
big it’s frightful. I wear it very often with three 
rows of curls behind and the rest smooth, with a 
fruzed toupe and a cap — that is, en paresseuse. 
There is nobody but Lady Tavistock who does not 
dress French that is at all genteel, for if they are 
not French, it is so ill-dressed, ’tis terrible. Almost 
everybody powders now and wears a little hoop; 
hats are vastly left off ; the hair down on the fore- 
head belongs to the short waist, etc., and is equally 
vulgar with poppons, trimmings, beads, garnets, 
flying caps and false hair. To be perfectly genteel 
you must be dressed thus. Your hair must not 
be cut off, for ’tis much too pretty, but it must be 
powdered, curled in very small curls, and altogether 
be in the style of Lady Tavistock’s, neat, but it must 
be high before and give your head the look of a 
sugar-loaf a little. The roots of the hair must be 
drawn up straight, and not fruzed at all for half an 
inch above the root; you must wear no cap, and 
only little, little flowers dabbed in on the left side; 
the only feather permitted is a black or white sut- 
tane, perched up on the left side and your diamond 
feather against it. A broad, puffed ribbon collier, 
with a tippet ruff, or only a little black handker- 
chief, very narrow over the shoulders; your stays 


176 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


very high and pretty tight at bottom; your gown 
trimmed with the same, very straight down the 
robings, and a narrow flounce at bottom to button 
and to be loose at the fore part of your robing. 
The sleeves long and loose, the waist very long, 
the flounces and ruffles of a decent length, not too 
long or so hideously short as they now wear them. 
No trimming on the sleeves, but a ribbon knot tied 
to hang on the ruffles. The men’s dress is exactly 
what they used to wear latterly : that is three or four 
curls high at the sides. Some people wear it cut 
short before and combed up cn brosse very high 
upon the top of the head ; it is called a greque , and is 
very pretty when well done. Mr. Robinson says 
that every one now dresses their hair so well that the 
old macaronis must be quite plain to distinguish 
themselves, and indeed it’s true, though I think the 
hair much prettier in this style than down at the ears 
in Sir Charles’ way. I have given you a pretty 
good bore upon dress, but I was provoked at Mrs. 
Cary setting such vulgar fashions.” 

Ill 

I have felt obliged to quote Sally on the fashion 
at such length, because it shows her very woman; 
perhaps, too, because such things must be of inter- 


THE PASSING SHOW 


1 77 

est to the feminine mind. This was written on an 
occasion when Sally was in high spirits, the shadow 
which we find creeping steadily nearer in her letters 
being for once lifted. This same delightful letter 
contains so many glimpses of the manners and 
doings of fashionable society at that day and hour 
that I must needs continue to quote. Sally is in 
her sprightliest mood; a charming woman, indeed. 

“ I told you the word ‘ bore ’ is a fashionable 
one for tiresome people and conversations, and is 
a very good one and very useful, for we may tell 
anybody (Lord G. Cavendish, for example) : ‘ I 

am sure this will be a bore , so I shall leave you, 
Lord George.’ If it was not the fashion it would 
be very rude, but I own I encouraged the fashion 
vastly, for it’s delightful, I think; one need only 
name a pig or pork and nobody dares take it ill, but 
hold their tongues discreetly. ‘ To grub up,’ is 
also a new expression, which can not be better 
illustrated to you than by supposing you were talk- 
ing to Mr. Robinson, who diverted you very much ; 
in comes the Duke of York or Gloucester, and by 
sitting down by you ‘ grubs up ’ poor Mr. Robin- 
son for perhaps the whole evening. The dukes 
will either of them serve for an example of a bore, 
too, also Lord Clanbrassil. When you know what 


178 ROSE OF T#E GARDEN 

f lending a tascusa ’ is, you are an fait of the bon 
ton. You have lent that puppy. Major Walpole, 
many ‘ a tascusa,’ and indeed I think you have the 
knack of ‘ lending them ’ better than anybody, so 
when you are glampy and some puppy comes 
and talks to you, the snub that they will get from 
you is exactly a ‘ tascusa,’ in its full force. Take 
notice, the word, though it appears Italian, has no 
meaning of its own. It is like ‘ chiquinno,’ which 
is used for any card under a five at quinze.” 


IV 

“ The new importation of this year for young men 
is Lord Mount Stuart, Lord Orrery and Stephen 
Fox. Lord Mount is tall, well-made and very hand- 
some; he is sensible, and ’tis the fashion to cry him 
up. I think he is very conceited, and seems to me 
very proud and vain, but yet is very well-bred and 
does vastly well for a beau. Lord Orrery I dote 
upon, though he is not handsome or conceited, but I 
know him to have so amiable a character from Sir 
Charles, whose greatest friend he is, that I like 
everything he does. I am grown to love Stephen 
excessively; in my journey to Paris I grew to knowi 
him better, and I really love him dearly now. 


THE PASSING SHOW 


179 

(Charles is very jealous of him), I find he is vastly 
liked in general. . . . 

“ I was in town for a week for the meeting of 
parliament. Sir Charles goes again next week. I 
don’t propose leaving this sweet Barton till the end 
of February. I divert myself so much here that 
I have not a minute on my hands, and I long to be 
here almost for some time. I propose reading a 
vast deal. I have left off riding a good deal, and 
I have taken to drawing. If I can finish a little 
drawing I will send you one, though ’tis not worth 
it, for I can only copy prints and I have not patience 
to do more than a head, but it diverts me vastly. 
Sir Charles has promised to come to see me in Feb- 
ruary, if I don’t go to town before then, as he fancies 
I shall be tired.” 


V 

February found Sally ill with a fever, which 
though it only lasted a week and was doubtless the 
plague influenza, yet left her so low, she writes, that 
she. had no energy to do anything. She is as com- 
fortable as possible in Sir Charles’ absence, with 
Mrs. Soame to read to her in the evenings, and 
her mornings occupied with the flower-beds out-of- 
doors. She hates going to town, because she can 


i8o ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

not endure the thought of changing a way of life 
that is perfectly happy and agreeable to her. 

“ You may well say, ‘ Why do you go, then? 9 To 
that I answer, ‘For two reasons, the first because 
Sir Charles neither can nor likes to stay at Barton, 
and comfortable as I am here I own that I am never 
really happy without him, and I flatter myself that 
is the same case with him, which makes him press 
my going to town. The second reason is that I 
find Lord Holland is in a very declining way. 

“ The little politics I know is that Mr. Pitt is 
given up even by his friend the Duke of Grafton, 
who after all the court they paid him owns that he is 
totally unpracticable, and that no one can do any- 
thing with him. By way of news Mr. Rousseau 
is all the talk. All that I hear of him is that he 
wears a pelisse and a fur cap, that he was at the 
play and desired to be placed where he might not 
see the King, which, as Mrs. Greville says, is ‘ a 
pauvrete worthy a philosopher.’ His dressing par- 
ticularly is, I think, very silly; and if, as the papers 
say, he told Garrick that he made him laugh and cry 
without understanding a word, that, in my humble 
opinion, was very silly too, for I am sure neither 
Lusignan nor Lord Chalkstone is likely to do that if 
one doesn’t understand the language. He sees few 


THE PASSING SHOW 


181 


people, and is to go and live at a farm in Wales, 
where he shall see nothing but mountains and wild 
goats. * Autre pauvrete ! 1 

“ I have very little else to say, my dear Netty, 
for this place affords but second-hand news and 
chat, and very little of that. My creatures are the 
people of most consequence here, and I have got an 
Angora cat that is so beautiful that she is the ad- 
miration of the county; I am distractedly fond of 
her and she is never from me a moment, having one 
great perfection that endears her to me, and that is 
she puts me in mind of you from morning till night, 
and has the slyest, pretty little look I ever saw in 
any one but you and her. I should have called her 
Netty if I had not been obliged to call her Laura 
after the person who gave her to me and desired me 
to do so.” 


VI 

A little later Sally is in town and very gay. She 
finds time to tell Netty about all the smart people 
and their doings, among them Lady Ilchester and 
her two daughters, who are “ going out ” that 
season. “ Everybody likes Lady Henrietta. I, for 
one, think her charming. Indeed, my sweet Netty, 
when your sister is by me in a public place, she has 


182 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


such looks of you that my heart is so full I can 
hardly help crying, particularly as without flattery 
I can not but make comparisons that make me regret 
my dearest soul more every day . . . nothing can 
ever efface you from my memory and prevent my 
indulging myself with your dear idea. . . . The 
Duchess of Richmond has come over for six weeks, 
as pretty and English as ever. They dined com- 
fortably with me to-day; the duchess is gone to the 
opera ; my Bunbury is asleep on the couch, and I am 
writing to you and to twenty other people besides. 

“ The new play of the clandestine marriage is a 
charming acting play. The epilogue is sad stuff, 
though by dear Mr. Garrick wrote it, but so he did 
Lord Ogilby’s character; I don’t know how it will 
read, but the parts are written for the actors, and 
they do act like angels in it. To be sure, Mr. Hol- 
land looks a little stately, but, however, it does very 
tolerably, and indeed I must say one thing, and 
that is that the plays are so infamous of late that 
it appears better than it can possibly read. Mr. 
Powell, Holland and Mrs. Yates (the support of 
our stage) scream at one another like screech-owls 
and bellow their parts without any feeling or sense. 
Mrs. Cibber is gone; Mrs. Pritchard going; Miss 
Pope grown horrid ugly and a bad actress; a devil 


THE PASSING SHOW, 


183 


of a man called Dodd that dares to act parts that 
were once so sweetly performed ; in short, the whole 
is terrible, and it is only this play, where there are 
no great parts, and where they all act as well as they 
can, that is bearable. 

“ Mr. Garrick is gone to the Bath. Poor Stephen 
is come to such an excess of deafness that it is 
quite melancholy and shocking; I can’t bear it, for 
I do love him so very much. Charles is in town, 
and is either stupid or melancholy, I don’t know 
which. He says he is like the King in Tom Thumb , 
for he is not quite well and he is in love. This time 
with a Mrs. Burrerd, whom he doesn’t know nor 
can he get presented to her; poor soul, he is in a 
piteous taking.” 


VII 

Sally has been ill. It is not often that she is ill, 
for her beauty is the beauty of perfect health. 

“I have been sick. Is it not ridiculous? But I 
am in a hopeful way, my illness being caused by 
too much health and great fulness of blood, which 
has at times by overheating myself really made me 
ill ; but now I am very careful and very well, only 
grown thin, and as Lord Holland says, ‘ like half- 
penny ale.’ I am grown tall, too. In short, though 


184 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


my phiz remains my person is changed. As to my 
phiz, I am grown to look older ; I have less color and 
my nose is grown long, so you may guess I am not 
much improved; indeed, few people are with grow- 
ing old.” (Sally is at this time twenty-two years 
of age.) “ But I flatter myself I have one advan- 
tage over many people, and that is that I tell myself 
every day : ‘ I am not old, but I am passed the age 

of a girl; it is time for me to check my vanity and 
to remember that if I don’t make myself agreeable 
I have no right to any attention from my acquaint- 
ance. You see ’tis still vanity that carries me on.” 

VIII 

Stephen Fox is to be married to a wild Irish girl, 
Lady Mary Fitzpatrick, daughter of Lord Orrery. 
She seems to have had the sweetness, the bright 
evanescent beauty that belong to the consumptive. 
She was to die of that fatal disease, but the seeds 
of it were lying dormant when Sally described her 
in words of such charm that I must quote them. 

“ As for Stephen — he is, as Lord Holland says, 
s a lucky dog.’ Indeed, you know her figure, but not 
her enough to know that she answers the French 
expression of une phisionomie interessante more 
than anybody, and that her character fully answers 


THE PASSING SHOW 


185 


the partiality you must take for her from her man- 
ner. There is a doux je ne sais quoi about her that 
is charming ; her voice goes to one’s heart and leaves 
a sort of tenderness in it that there is nothing she 
can say will be indifferent to me. In short, Netty, 
it is a little blessed angel.” 

Does not Sally know how to give her own sex 
noble praises ? 

IX 

“ I am vastly diverted with your fashionable 
people. By this time I hope you have got a pink 
and green lutestring ready-made with all accom- 
paniments, that I sent you. I was so provoked 
that Mrs. Cary should set a fashion that I ordered 
it all myself and hope you will accept of it and 
dress yourself very smart for the First Assembly; 
and then let Mrs. Cary and the governor’s wife 
hold their tongues and be as genteel if they can. 

“ Your chaise is departed, but I have a great 
many excuses to make for it, for I would have a 
whim and I’ve spoilt it. You must know that there 
is now a rage in London for gray equipages; and 
Mr. Beauclerk came out in the most fringant 
equipage, all gray and silver, that ever was seen; 
and I was such a ninny that I ordered the chaise to 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


1 86 

be so too, not considering that there is no flat space 
to make any pattern upon and that the high varnish 
was the great beauty of it; so when it came home it 
was quite different from what I meant, and I was 
very mad and was going to send it back, but I con- 
sidered that it was of as much use to you as if it 
was green, and that I should perhaps make you lose 
the season for it, and so I let it e’en go and ask 
you ten thousand pardons for my conceit. 

“ I enjoy myself prodigiously at Holland House. 
The sweet place looks heavenly. Adieu.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


SALLY CHOOSES LOVE 

I 

4 4 T AM back at Barton once again, and though I 
'X say it that should not say it, it does look 
beautiful. I have turned out some silver pheasants 
and they come and feed at the door with the pea- 
cocks ; only think how pretty this is. I intend Bar- 
ton shall grow like Mr. I forget his name, Lord 

Weymouth’s gamekeeper’s house, with all manner 
of creatures about. I do dote on creatures. I can 
never see a young calf or a lamb, or a little donkey 
that I don’t want to take the creature’s head in my 
arms and embrace it. As for babies — Sir Charles 
would be bored to death with a brat. As for me 
I adore the little animals and can not see one in a 
poor tramping wench’s arms that I don’t envy her 
and want it for myself. 

“ Lord Holland mends very much. He lives 
upon strawberrys, peas and minced meat; he can’t 
eat solid meat, but as he eats a great deal I can’t 
think him the worse for that. I hope to God he 
187 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


1 88 

will be able to go to Naples, which is his present 
intention, next October. Stephen and Lady Mary, 
" Charles, William and Lord Carlisle will be there ; 
don't you think it is very tempting for us to go, 
too? I own that when I am at Paris, where we 
mean to be in October, I shall hardly be able to 
resist pursuing my journey, if Sir Charles will 
agree to it, which I fancy he will ; for he doesn't dis- 
like the thoughts of it and you don’t know perhaps 
that I'm reckoned to govern him ; I really think it is 
true, but I use very little art about it, for the mo- 
ment I want anything I tell him of it and he is so 
very good and spoils me so much that he seldom 
refuses me; so that it comes to the same thing as 
being henpecked, as Lord Holland tells him, only 
it is fort flatteur for me that he should have the 
same indulgence for me now as if I were not an 
old married woman. 

“ He indeed spoils me excessively, yet I will con- 
fess to my dearest Netty, who is as my other self, 
that all this indulgence counts less for my happi- 
ness than if he were to sit down with me to a Darby 
and Joan existence with a dozen brats; I should 
have love enough for a dozen. But 'tis no use to 
talk of it. He doesn’t like the country life and I 
dote upon it. Barton is intolerable dull to him, 


SALLYi CHOOSES LOVE 


189 


and he is scarce back from London but his fancy 
flies to Newmarket. He is for town and I am for 
the country ; and his amiability doesn’t allow of his 
insisting that where he is I shall be. Perhaps I 
should be better pleased if his complaisance did not 
carry him so far.” 


II 

The next letters tell us of the house-parties at 
Barton and the fun fast and furious, the theatricals, 
the dancing, the outdoor life, the christening of 
new foals, etc. Sally has forgot perhaps that she 
sighed for domesticity. 

“ I have got Charles Fox into such order that ’tis 
quite ridiculous; he will toad-eat me beyond all 
imagination; I’m right proud of it, I can tell you, 
and the more that he doesn’t do so by Lady Mary 
and says he is really afraid of me. * Afraid of 
you! ’ I think I hear you say. Yes, indeed; but ’tis 
not from my great dignity, I confess, ’tis from a 
more pleasing reason, that is, he knows how exces- 
sively I do love him, and because I believe he loves 
me full as well and he knows I can’t bear to think 
I’m not in favor with him; indeed, he is such an 
amiable creature it is impossible to know him and 
not adore him. Dickson is exactly the same as he 


190 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


was. He acted ‘ Cacefoze/ and was most pleased 
with calling me ‘ A Whim-Wham/ ‘ A Thing of 
Clouts/ etc. You can fancy how we laughed.” 

Ill 

Sally’s letters are carried on faithfully for the 
next couple of years. We have plenty of good ad- 
vice to Lady Susan, who, poor soul, seems to have 
been somewhat over-advised. We find Sally occa- 
sionally in the role of a candid friend, but not often; 
usually her sweetness and tenderness wrap up the 
pill in a sugared coating. She is more to Lady 
Susan, who seems never to have been wholly for- 
given by her family, than any one else, father or 
mother, brothers or sisters. Poor little Lady 
Susan, constantly in the part of poor relation, job- 
hunting for her O’Brien, may be excused the occa- 
sional petulances with which she annotates Sally’s 
letters. 

To her it falls now and again to drop a word in 
season in her friend’s ear. Sally, beautiful and 
young, with a charming young husband, wit, sense, 
wealth, all that could make life pleasant, has re- 
curring attacks of the blues. 

“ Sir Charles has a complaint in his stomach that 
obliges him to go to Bath and Spa, both; I hope 


SALLY CHOOSES LOVE 191 

it will agree with him, which will comfort me for 
my trouble; but I own I am wore to death with 
routing. My spirits are vastly lowered since you 
saw me; I long much to stay here a whole long 
summer. It is a sweet dear place, and I am never 
tired of it. Sir Charles has won with all his horses 
at Newmarket, which vastly delight him. What 
pleases my lord pleases me. Believe me, I am not 
insensible of the blessing of my good husband. I 
take it that we are two of the luckiest women alive 
to possess two such dear creatures. Mine has not a 
fault, unless it be that he loves Newmarket more 
than Barton, and doesn’t know the felicity it is to 
sit by a fire of a winter night with a book and hear 
the wind howl without. He is not framed for 
domesticity, but he is as handsome as ever and as 
young. I should be a monster of ingratitude if I 
ever made a single complaint and did not thank 
God for making me the happiest of beings.” 

Lady Susan’s comment on this was a shrewd one. 

“ My poor Sally,” she says, “ tenderest, truest 
friend woman ever had. She is writing down her 
own heart, and I fear a serious dissatisfaction with 
life behind all these protests. She was ever a thing 
of spirit. God send her the help she needs ! ” 


192 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


IV 

“ It snows in May and is miserably cold,” writes 
Sally. 0 si sic omnes! “Eve been ill and con- 
fined to my room for six weeks with a nervous 
fever.” 

“ What is this about fevers ? ” comments Lady 
Sue. “A fig for your fevers! You never used 
to have ’em. If I hear any more of it I shall come 
home and nurse you, despite the gloom of my 
family at the prospect of my return. Oh, Sally, 
can you send me some violet roots? I think I 
could grow them. In your last letter was some- 
what that savored of violets ; and I dreamt you and 
I were in the shrubbery at Redlinch, seeking white 
violets under the leaves, of a March day, and the 
tally-ho of the hunt sounding in the distance. Do 
you remember ? ” 

It is come to Netty’s lot to scold Sally and Sally 
takes the scolding sweetly. 

“ I will begin with those stories you have heard 
of me and by thanking you for the kind, gentle and 
sensible way you advise me, my dearest heart. I 
am very conscious that the less a woman is talked 
of in general the better, and in particular upon such 
subjects. I am very well aware of my own vanity 


SALLY CHOOSES LOVE 


193 


and folly, which has led me to love admiration in 
general, perhaps because I shrink from what is par- 
ticular. Be assured, my dearest Netty, that my 
morals are not spoilt by the French: they are so 
totally different from my character and from what 
I was brought up to think right, that it would be 
having a very mean opinion of me to think that three 
months could undo all that nature and custom have 
taught me. That I have in every action of my life 
kept up to the very good education I have had is, I 
fear, too much to say ; nor would I believe it scarce 
possible if it were not for Louisa ; but she is an angel 
and I am a weak, unsteady, thoughtless, vain crea- 
ture; but still I assure you it is not possible with a 
good heart, which I pique myself upon, to change so 
dreadfully without being a miserable wretch. I do 
assure you that my first thought and regard is to 
my husband’s happiness and that I do very sincerely 
desire the good opinion of the world and the regard 
of my friends. I guess what story has reached 
you, on which you found your warnings; but, be- 
lieve me, very dear soul, that what might be an oc- 
casion of weakness to me once is no longer so, and 
that you may set your dear heart at rest concerning 
me. If to minister to a sick soul and a heart in 
trouble is to be condemned then am I worthy of 


i 9 4 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


condemnation. But if I know my Netty she will 
say no.” 


V 

To this Lady Susan made the laconic answer: 
“ For God’s sake, Sally, let any one comfort your 
cousin William rather than you. I do not believe 
that he is dying. He was always broken-hearted. 
If you love me, Sally, let another woman comfort 
him.” 


VI 

We are come now almost to the end of the letters. 
Winter is setting in at Barton. Sally is at last to 
have the bliss she desired, the bliss of motherhood. 

“ It is October now,” she writes, “ and the trees 
prettier than you could imagine, all crowding up 
to the windows to have a look at me. The new 
library is finished and is a most comfortable apart- 
ment. The ceiling is stuccoed in gold and white. 
All the bookcases have brass lattices, and above 
them the busts in marble of the Greek and Latin 
philosophers and poets. Miss Blake is with me. 
Her dear little sly phiz reminds me of yours. 
Would to God I could see it! I neither walk nor 
ride, but go out in the cabriolet. Sir Charles is 


SALLY CHOOSES LOVE 


195 


vastly impatient of imprisonment to a house. He 
is between London and Newmarket: seldom here. 
I am never ill, which perhaps you did not know 
had happened to me often during the last two years. 
The sun seems to shine through the honey-colored 
leaves even when there is no sun. The gardeners 
are putting in bulbs. Many things will have hap- 
pened, my dear soul, before they push their pretty 
noses through the earth. 

“ Are you still politician enough to be eager over 
the fuss they make with Mr. Wilks? If you are 
I wish you would write an anonymous letter to His 
Majesty — to advise him not to skulk in his den 
like — I don’t know what, for my loyalty forbids 
my naming what a pauvre animal I think him. It 
really provokes me to see him so bullied ; but you 
know we always prophesied he would never make 
a figure, once being out of our good graces, and we 
never were mistaken, certainly. Do you know that 
he has made his brat the proudest little imp you 
ever saw, just like himself?” 

VII 

This is the last of the letters for a period of 
nearly seven years, during which many things hap- 
pened. Among other things Lady Susan and Mr. 


196 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


O’Brien returned to England in the summer of 
1770, but Sally was not then in a condition of mind 
to give her friend the welcome which she would 
have given her in happier circumstances, so true is 
it that most of the happiness of this mortal life 
consists in anticipation and that the thing realized 
falls far short of the anticipation. “ The event 
of February 1769 was that toward which I now 
know my whole life had been leading,” Lady Sarah 
wrote in her diary. “ God knows I have repented. 
It was never sweet to me at the best, for in moments 
that would otherwise have been Elysium my con- 
science reproached me for what I had done. Let 
me say for both of us that we did not sin lightly. 
Ours was une grande passion. In a manner I was 
his only love, as he was mine, for the poor Roman 
lady was never his love but only his saint. For my 
sin against a too trusting husband I can not forgive 
myself. I should never have married him, or he 
should not have left me so much alone. I have 
loved greatly; I have sinned greatly; I have suf- 
fered greatly.” 


SALLY CHOOSES LOVE 


197 


VIII 

“ Let me write so far as I may, her vindication, 
her exculpation, her apology,” says her lifelong 
friend. 

“ This dearest, brightest, warmest of women had 
the irreparable misfortune at a very early age of 
falling violently in love with her cousin, Lord 
William Gordon, a young man of a refined and 
pensive beauty, great nobility of character and a 
warm heart. It was impossible for Sally to love 
and not be loved. Unfortunately, in his early man- 
hood, out of the nobility and generosity of his 
character, as I believe, he formed an attachment or 
friendship to the beautiful Princess Coronna whose 
unhappiness it was to be married to a wicked devil 
and rake, who having obtained possession of her 
beautiful person wreaked on it his evil rage — such 
as devils feel — that he could not harm her soul. 
Lord W., persuaded, I am certain, by some fantas- 
tical knight-errantry which was entirely to his 
credit, devoted himself to Madame Coronna’s serv- 
ice, she at this time being a sick woman and living 
apart from her husband, that ape and devil in man’s 
shape. Lord W. left Sally’s side after he had be- 
come aware that his passion was returned, on the 


198 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


news that Madame Coronna had gone back to her 
husband, which was a part of the poor soul’s gener- 
osity that she might place a barrier between them, 
leaving him free to marry Sally. I need not re- 
late how her husband murdered her, with which 
Europe has rung and which wicked deed the foul 
devil expiated on the scaffold. Lord W., distraught 
with the sight he came suddenly upon at the vilia, 
lonesome and in the country, where that wretch 
had taken her to murder her, was at first too sick 
of life to remember what happiness might yet be 
his. When at last he remembered the solace of 
Sally’s lovely beauty — and I do believe she was the 
sweetest, sunniest thing the world ever saw — when 
he turned to Sally’s arms for a refuge and her bosom 
to pillow his head he found that she was already 
another’s, and that other one by his generosity, his 
unsuspiciousness, his youth and charm, not lightly 
to be wronged. 

“ All the world is buzzing with Sally’s name. 
She stood always so above scandal — a miracle, 
seeing that she was so mad and merry — that now 
she is a titbit indeed for them who love to see de- 
filed what has been more than common white. 

“ Well, if ever a pair was to be pitied, it was in 
my opinion these two; for they had spent above 


SALLY1 CHOOSES LOVE 


199 


seven years in keeping apart violently, who if but 
once the restraint was removed would rush together 
with an irresistible force. They saw each other 
from time to time, but by accident. Lord W. 
roamed the world ill at ease. Sometimes the desire 
to look upon Sally once again would drive him home 
for a few days. On many occasions she saw him, 
without speaking, — once from her box at the 
Opera, where she caught sight of him in the 
shadows of the pit. Another time as she leaned 
from her window at night she saw him look at her 
from the darkness of trees. He would vanish 
again to the ends of the earth. He has lived among 
the North American Indians, and has sojourned 
many months in the East Indies. He has been 
treasure-hunting in the Caribbean Seas. Anything 
that would keep him from Sally’s beauty and 
Sally’s heavenly charm. Alack, poor lovers! 

“ The time came when Lord W. was obliged to 
be in England because of the dangerous illness of 
his father. They met, they touched hands, they 
spoke. They deceived themselves. Sally has 
sworn to me when I reproached her for an occasion 
of danger, that a great change had come over them 
for they were both grown calm. ‘ It is the ap- 
proach of age,’ she wrote. She had sent me her 


200 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


picture colored with the same letter. I glanced 
at it : the ravishing complexion, the kind deep eyes, 
the lovely hair, the enchanting smile were all there. 
She should have sent me the uncolored print she 
sent to Mr. O’Brien. I could better then have be- 
lieved that they were grown calm. 

“ Sir Charles Bunbury’s too simple trust drove 
the poor things together; for what does he do, 
Sally being interesting and keeping the house at 
Barton, but bid Lord W. there to look after his 
wife? They say he commended Lord W. to the 
graces of a pretty Miss Blake who is devoted to 
Sally and kept her company. Poor wretch ! I 
should like to shake him. He is as pretty as a pic- 
ture, but stupid. What has he to do with a quick- 
silver thing like Sal? 

“ Even then — I know they parted not once but 
many times. ’Twas Sir Charles’ apparent careless- 
ness about his wife that turned the tables at last. 
When Louisa was born he was not to be found. 
There was a cock-fight somewhere — or a match. 
He is a great child. He blubbed over her when 
she was very ill, but no sooner does she begin to 
mend than he is coursing in the next county. A 
man so excessively fond of sport has no business to 
marry — a creature of her sensibility, too. 


SALLY CHOOSES LOVE 


201 


“ They are at Carolside in Berwickshire, and 
little Louisa Bunbury with them. I hear it is a fine 
child. I am glad the mother’s love has not deserted 
the poor brat. There is a terrible commotion in 
the family. The pride of Lady Kildare is 
wounded beyond cure. Lord Holland is too sick 
and his wife too busy keeping him with her to care 
much or show it. Lady Louisa Conolly is in tears. 
I hear that neither Charles Fox nor his brother 
Stephen will hear a word against her. The Duchess 
of Richmond is very incensed; but I hear the duke 
says he will receive her if but she will come back. 
She will never be happy in that situation and the 
joy they can snatch will be at the best but a bitter 
one. 

“ The whole world pities Sir Charles and blames 
my poor Sally. I hear that Sir Charles is so vastly 
pleased with a filly he is training for the Thousand 
Guineas Gold Cup that he is scarce aware of his 
loss.” 


b 


CHAPTER XIV 


HER PENITENCE 

I 

O N a weeping day of May Sally came back. 

There had been a storm in the night, and the 
pretty flowers were all beaten down, their faces in 
the earth ; it yet rained and was cold, and there were 
heavy cloud-shadows everywhere, and the wind 
sighed more like autumn than spring. 

“ There is snow on the hills,” said Sally’s brother, 
the duke, as they sat in the post-chaise together, 
huddled in cloaks, for the wind was very keen, 
“The blossom will be all spoilt this year; and ’tis 
hard on the ewes and lambs. It is the latest snow 
that ever I remember.” 

The duke was an easy-going, good-natured man, 
and very fond of his pretty young sister. He was 
uneasily conscious of the tragedy in Sally’s face as 
she sat trying to quiet the fretful child, which cried, 
poor innocent, as though it knew how its mother 
had laid her life in ruins. Sally stared before her 
while she rocked the child to and fro in her arms, 


202 


HER PENITENCE 


203 


and the expression on her face was not good to see. 
She had had three months of passion, and never 
for one moment had it been sweet, because remorse 
had turned it sour. Time had been when she had 
said that she would belong to the man who needed 
her, whom she needed, though all the laws of God 
and man stood in the w r ay, and would riot repent. 
But the grayness of ashes was in her eyes and on 
her cheeks as she sat nursing the querulous child 
and gazing out at the harsh day. She had not un- 
derstood her own capacities for remorse, for re- 
pentance. 

The duke leaned over and gave his fingers to the 
child to hold. 

“ See how fast she clings, Sally ! ” he said. “ She 
will know what she wants and will have it, the 
pretty creature. ,, 

He was troubled when he had said it, fearing he 
had said the wrong thing. But Sally had not heard 
him. Her heart and mind were back in those part- 
ing hours with her lover, when they had had their 
last walk, dumb with grief, beside the waters of 
the Leader. The path which they paced up and 
down during those three months they were together 
is yet known by the name of the Lovers’ Walk. 
You shall see the walk if you visit Carolside in our 


204 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

day; and the thorn-trees the hapless lovers planted 
side by side have intertwined, branch and stem. 

II 

The duke had thought to have a hard task to 
separate them. He had undertaken it against the 
wishes of his family. His duchess had mocked at 
his undertaking anything so hopeless. Sally’s sis- 
ters, while they loved her still, had no hope of his 
success. “ Give her my dear love,” said Louisa, 
the most tender of them, “ and tell her that when 
she will come she will find my arms open to receive 
her.” 

“ Better let her be,” said some one else. “ Since 
she has burned her boats for her lover, let her stay 
with him. Will her husband receive her? Or will 
the world be kind ? What about the women’s 
tongues? She is too beautiful and too witty not 
to have made enemies.” 

“ Under my protection,” said the duke haughtily, 
“no one will dare treat my sister with disrespect.” 
He was as proud as the devil, though a simple soul, 
as Sally used to say in her triumphal days. 

He was simple enough now as he sat opposite 
Sally in the post-chaise, miserable because of the 
misery of her face, racking his kind mind to find 


HER PENITENCE 


205 


something to say that would not hurt her. They 
were traveling to Goodwood^ changing horses at 
every stage. Somewhere at the back of the duke’s 
mind there lurked a dread that Lord William might 
repent his giving up of Sally and might follow post- 
haste. So there were 110 stoppages; only fresh 
horses at all the posting-houses they came to and 
pushing on night and day, snatching some food 
while the horses were changed, till it was all a dream 
of fatigue for poor Sally; and as for the child, it 
fretted day and night. 


Ill 

By the end of the second day the duke was 
fuming against Charles Bunbury who could not 
keep his wife himself and would not set her free 
to marry a man who wanted her. It had not been 
to his mind, this thrusting the lovers apart. They 
had been most unhappy in loving where they were 
not free to love. The tragedy of their passion 
dignified it. Neither was of that spirit to be happy 
amid the shipwreck of all their ideals. There were 
women who could have been happy in the circum- 
stances. Not Sally, who could not cast away the 
precepts of virtue in which she had been brought 
up, nor lower the honorable pride which belonged 


2o6 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


to her as to all her family. The apples of Eden 
were bitter in her mouth. 

The second night out they halted for sleep. The 
duke was dazed for sleep and the driver nodding 
on his box. The next morning they pushed on 
again. They were now well over the border, and, 
barring highwaymen — and since they rode without 
pretension to be anything but modest travelers they 
might hope not to attract highwaymen — they would 
reach Goodwood some time in the evening of the 
fourth day. The child slept at last; the cold in 
England was less than it had been in Scotland and 
traveling more tolerable. The duke began to be 
reassured about the danger of Lord William’s re- 
penting and following them, and became more ap- 
prehensive as they drew nearer London of the dan- 
ger of highwaymen; but they were fortunate 
enough, when about fifty miles from London, to 
fall in with a detachment of soldiers also traveling 
toward London, and under their escort they traveled 
in safety. 

IV 

A night spent in London, where Sally refused to 
meet any of her own kin, and with her infant spent 
the night under the roof of Madame Lefevre, her 


HER PENITENCE 


207 


old French governess, and the next day they were 
on their way to Goodwood, this time under escort, 
since they traveled in the duke's carriage. It was a 
melancholy journey. 

Now for the first time Sally opened her lips to 
ask what was to be done with her. The good- 
natured duke, who could have wept to see the 
beauteous thing Sally was reduced to this Medusa- 
face, leaned across the child to take Sally’s hand in 
his. 

“ My dear little sister,” he said, “ I will take care 
of you.” 

“I will not face my world again,” said Sally; 
and the duke wished she would have wept, although 
he was no more partial to a woman’s tears than 
any other man. “ If I could but find a mother for 
this innocent whom I have robbed of everything; 
if but Louisa would take her and rear her as her 
own, I should be no trouble to you. There is a 
convent I know in Italy where they would receive 
me. Once the grille closed behind me you could 
think on me as dead.” 

“ I do not want to think on you as dead,” replied 
the duke. “ I had rather you lived, child. Why 
should you rob this little one of a mother as well 
as all else she has lost? ” 


208 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ The duchess will not receive me,” said Sally ; 
and never looked prouder than in her humility. 

" Why, I think you wrong her grace there,” said 
the duke. “ She is kinder than you think. But 
you must not talk of convents. They sound a 
death-in-life place to me. If you desire ghostly 
comfort you shall have it from Doctor Godwin, my 
chaplain. If I were you, Sally, child, I would not 
look behind, but before. If the Christian religion 
means aught to you, as I know it does, that is a 
religion which is very kind to the penitent.” 

Sally winced and again the duke reproached him- 
self for his obtuseness. 

“ If it is not to be the convent,” she said, “ what 
are you going to do with me, Charles? Your 
friends will not receive me, even if your wife will.” 

The duke thrust out his under lip. He was in- 
ordinately proud, for all his easy ways. 

“ I should like to see the one,” he said, “ man or 
woman, who will not follow where I lead. But I 
have thought of everything for you, Sally. You 
need not face the world till you will. You shall 
have the use of the Dingle till I build you a house, 
which I shall proceed to do at once.” 

At this evidence of her brother’s tenderness for 
her Sally at last wept. 


HER PENITENCE 


209 


V 

At the Dingle Sally lived retired from the world, 
some considerable portion of which would have 
been willing to welcome her. Indeed, the world 
was kinder than she thought, for that part of it 
which was worthy consideration looked upon her 
not as a woman lightly sinning, but as one who had 
had a great passion, the object of which through 
the cruelty of fate had been forbidden her. 

In time all the members of her own family came 
back to her. The Duchess of Richmond treated 
her most truly as a sister. Lady Louisa hurried 
to her side as soon as she might, for she was in 
Ireland. Presently Lady Holland came to tell her 
the sad incidents of the death-bed of Lady Cecilia, 
the youngest of the Lennox sisters, who died of a 
decline in Italy in the year of Sally’s great trouble. 
Sally in sober garments, as nun-like as she might 
wear, the life and sparkle gone from her face, her 
footsteps sad and slow; Sally devoted to her infant, 
and striving to keep a cheerful face lest the babe 
should be frightened of her gloom, was a touching 
spectacle. 

The sisters whispered together concerning her. 
She had appointed to herself a life at the Dingle 


210 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


only a little less sad than the life at the Carmelites 
would have been. So great and fixed was her grief 
that they feared its ultimate effect on her bodily 
health. She began to grow hollow behind the ears ; 
her nose to sharpen ; she had a cough. She seemed 
like to go the way of Lady Cecilia. 

Doctor Godwin visited her a great deal, and read 
spiritual books with her for her comfort Blair’s 
Grave and The Mercy of God as Displayed in a 
Hell for Sinners did not seem to have the uplifting 
effect on Sally which the pious man designed. He 
had begun upon Death Considered under Nine 
Headings, with an "Appendix on the Tortures of 
the Damned and the Errors of the Popish Doctrine 
of Purgatory, when Sally one day tossed the book 
in the fire and burst out laughing, afterward apolo- 
gizing profusely to the learned divine, who was not, 
however, placated, nor could he be brought to be- 
lieve that she was sorry, no matter how many ex- 
cuses were made him. 


VI 

The duke expressed himself as being vastly 
pleased at Sally’s treatment of his chaplain; and 
while the duchess was rather shocked, she was 
forced to acknowledge that it seemed like Sally re- 


HER PENITENCE 


2 1 1 


turning to her old self. The duke sent a special 
messenger to Lady Louisa to tell her the incident, 
as though it were a joyful piece of news, and while 
it comforted Lady Louisa, it made her weep too. 

But the incident had not the significance they had 
hoped, for after it was over Sally returned to her 
solitary way of living, which made her deny herself 
at times even to the members of her own family. 
It was a very wet winter following that in which 
Sally had forgotten religion and duty and all else 
because of her fatal passion. She hardly ever went 
out, not even to attend the chapel of Goodwood 
House. She had one old servant, who had followed 
her from Ireland for love of her, and a young nurse 
who helped in the care of Miss Louisa Bunbury; 
the child throve as though her mother was not a 
mourning penitent and never caused in any one the 
slightest concern as to its health. 

It was the Irish servant, Bridget O’Neill, who 
spoke to Lady Louisa of the habit of solitariness 
that was growing on the mistress she adored. 

“ She isn’t a baste, to be always alone,” she said ; 
“ and ’tis a mad woman or a dead woman you’ll 
find her before long, my lady. What did I hear 
the crathur moanin’ to herself last night whin I 
listened at the dure of her room to see if she was 


212 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


asleep? She kep’ sayin’ to herself over an’ over, 
‘ The thorn-trees have grown and they have knotted 
together/ What d’ye make of it, my lady? 
Ravin’, I call it. An’ times she’ll sing to herself, 
an’ ’tis the terrible lonesome song of Shule Aroon 
she does be singin’, an’ ’tis worse thin cryin’.” 

Lady Louisa was dreadfully shocked and per- 
turbed. She tried to induce Sally to return with 
her to Ireland, but Sally seemed most unwilling to 
meet any of those who had known her in the bril- 
liant days of her honor and renown. She was 
still thinking of the convent in its nook in the 
Apennines, where the nuns never spoke, but fasted 
and scourged themselves and wore hair-shirts for 
the sins of the world, and were on their knees be- 
fore the altar night and day. 

VII 

The devoted sister turned away in tears from the 
spectacle of this ruined Sally craving for the death- 
in-life of the cloister as the only refuge for her 
broken heart. Her incessant brooding could only 
end one way. Sally would be driven mad within a 
short time, if it went on. 

Lady Louisa, in her desperation, had a wild idea. 
Sally’s husband had made no sign. The duke had 


HER PENITENCE 


213 


urged a divorce on him in the hope that the lovers 
might be enabled to marry, but Sir Charles had re- 
fused to consider the question of divorce. “ A dog 
in the manger,” said the duke, and anathematized 
the husband. 

Lady Louisa had the strange idea of appealing 
to Sir Charles to set Sally free. She took a chair 
to his house in Privy Gardens, where she found 
him breakfasting, although it was afternoon; and 
the room in which he sat, in which she had last 
seen Sally in the splendor of her beauty and pride, 
presented so disordered and chilly an appearance, 
that she felt the bitterness in her heart evaporating, 
drop by drop. 

“ To what am I indebted for the honor of this 
visit ? ” asked Sir Charles, starting to his feet and 
treading on a dog’s tail as he did so. Half a dozen 
dogs lay about the hearth, eying the cold ashes 
of the grate disconsolately. 

He set Lady Louisa a chair. 

“ I hope you’re not chilly, ma’am,” he said. “ My 
rascally servants neglect me. They have forgotten 
to light the fire, although it is three of the after- 
noon. May I offer you a cup of chocolate ? ” 

The chill of the place seemed to settle clammily 
on Louisa’s heart. Her eyes, roaming hither and 


214 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


thither, took in the signs of a dissipated night. A 
broken decanter, the wine sopping into the carpet, 
lay on the ground at her feet. There were cards 
flung about the table; a heap of sovereigns was at 
one corner. The report that the deserted husband 
distracted himself with faro was apparently not an 
erroneous one. 

Tears gathered in Lady Louisa’s kind eyes. She 
looked at the young man who sat toying without 
appetite with his breakfast. The wholesome sun- 
burn had gone from his face. He was pale; his 
eyes, sunken, showed heavy rings about them. His 
dark hair was in disorder ; his person displayed neg- 
lect. Her heart bled for the man who was one 
of the handsomest, most debonair of his day. 
Surely Sally was right when she said that the con- 
sequences of sin were endless. 

“ Oh, Charles,” she said, “ what desolation ! ” 

She had come in with a heart steeled against him, 
if a heart can be steeled that is naturally all soft- 
ness. 

“ Oh, Charles, what desolation ! ” 

The tears overflowed her eyes and made two 
disconsolate rivulets down her fresh and fair 
cheeks. 


HER PENITENCE 


215 


VIII 

Sir Charles sprang to his feet. 

“ I’m confoundedly sorry, Louisa,” he said. 
“ Don’t cry. I can’t bear to see a woman cry. 
Why, what’s the matter ? Sally isn’t dead ? ” 

The consternation in his face struck her as so 
strange and unexpected that her tears ceased to 
flow. She looked at him, a soft image of Sally. 

“ She is not dead,” she said, “ but she will be 
dead or mad if she will not give over grieving. 
But indeed, Charles, ’twas not for her I wept. My 
concern was to see the plain evidences here of what 
my poor sister’s conduct has driven you to. It 
would be the last straw, if she knew.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, and she thought she 
had never seen him look so handsome. She had a 
wonder that Sally could have given him up — even 
for Lord William. 

“ I am not worth your tears,” he said. “ For the 
matter of that, you don’t expect a man to be domes- 
tic without a wife. The nights would be long but 
for the cards. There is no great harm in it. I 
am not broke yet.” 

“ It would kill my sister,” Lady Louisa said, 
growing tearful again. Living in Ireland, she had 


21 6 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


not heard that Sir Charles Bunbury was consoling 
himself as men of fashion usually do. 

“ How is she ? ” he asked, and he seemed much 
moved. 

“ Oh,” said Lady Louisa, “ is it possible you care 
for her still ? ” 

“ I care for her damnably! ” he returned; and for 
once Lady Louisa spared to rebuke the oath. 

“ Then,” she said, getting to her feet, “ Tis no 
use stating my errand. I came to ask if you would 
not divorce my poor sister, so as to give her a chance 
of beginning life again. I hardly think happiness 
is possible to her ; she is too conscious of the wrong 
she has done you and herself. She is very proud, 
Sir Charles. The position she finds herself in is 
more than she can endure.” 

“ I am sorry to incommode her,” he replied, his 
face hardening, “but leave her free to marry her 
lover I can not and will not! Take her that mes- 
sage from me.” 

“Alas!” said Lady Louisa, “God forbid that T 
should add that to the burden she already bears. 
She has no thought of marrying. Her only desire 
is to flee away and be at rest. She would now be 
in a convent in Italy — where she would be as se- 
cluded as in her grave — if we would consent to 


HER PENITENCE 217 

it. Poor child! She only longs to die to her old 
life. If you saw her, Charles, even you would 
forgive her.” 

“ Sally in a convent ! ” he said. “ Shut away 
from the sun and air! Why, she was the freest 
creature that ever walked. What a seat she had in 
the saddle ! ’Twas a thousand pities I never had her 
heart.” 


CHAPTER XV 


SHE CHOOSES THE HARD WAY 

I 

S ALLY was walking up and down by the banks 
of a winter stream. The branches of the trees 
met over her head ; but all the leaves were down un- 
der her feet. The stream flowed sluggishly : it was 
the overflow from the string of lakes that ran like 
the beads of a rosary through the Sussex wood- 
lands. Very different from the Leader in flood, 
when she and William Gordon, hand in hand, had 
looked into each other’s miserable eyes and said 
farewell. 

The duke had had Doctor Harvey to Sally, and 
he had prescribed the open air. Sally followed his 
prescription obediently. This obedient Sally, who 
had always been so wilful, a lovely rebel against 
authority, made those who loved her weep. She 
paced up and down by the banks of the sluggish 
English stream while the rain beat upon her and 
the wind cried about her ears, seeing always the 
Leader in flood, feeling William Gordon’s tears on 
her face, in that last interview when they had clung 
218 


SHE CHOOSES THE HARD WAY 219 


together a while before he put her away and ran 
from the place. She knew now why the wind and 
the rain, the sound of waters in flood had ever 
troubled her with a prevision of griefs to be. 

There was not one hope stirring in Sally’s head, 
as there was not a hint of life in the stripped and 
desolate woods. 


II 

She was living over again, as she lived over 
again day and night, the parting with her lover. 
Even the consolations of religion were denied her, 
because she felt she had not truly repented, else she 
would have turned away resolutely from such 
thoughts. It was late afternoon of the January 
day, and the dusk began to gather in the Lady’s 
Walk as the place was called. Some poor unhappy 
lady had drowned herself there, and the Sally of 
the happy days would not have found herself in the 
Lady’s Walk at dusk for anything you could give 
her. But this Sally was “ fallen too low for spe- 
cial fear.” 

The mists were rising and the rain came on 
thicker : it was time she should go in. The thought 
of the lighted room which awaited her did not draw 
her: she was past such appeals; the chill and sad- 


220 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


ness of the world out-of-doors were more in tune 
with her mind. She leaned above the’ water. In 
parts it was very deep and filled with water-weeds 
that fattened in the slimy ooze at the bottom of the 
stream. 

She stood by a little bridge. She thought the 
water flowed stealthily as though it had secrets to 
hide. She could see her own face reflected dimly 
in the water, like a drowned face. It seemed to 
draw her toward it. She leaned a little nearer. 
She was not afraid of the stream nor its secrets. A 
strange thought came into her mind. If she were 
to yield herself quietly to the stream would she 
sink, or would she float? Would she be carried 
over the weir a mile down and into the mill-pond? 
If she sank, how long would it be before her body 
should float? 

She looked about her to see if there were 
any stones with which a body could be weighted 
so that it would lie quietly at the bottom of the 
stream. 

Ill 

“ Sally.” 

Some one had come quietly along the Lady’s 
Walk and spoken almost at her ear. She started 
violently. The name had been whispered. She 


SHE CHOOSES THE HARD WAY 221 


turned with a wild expectation of seeing her lover. 
Oh, indeed, she was not truly repentant; she had 
not torn the forbidden passion from her heart. The 
wild hope fluttered and died. Terror and shame 
took its place. He who called her name was her 
husband. 

She covered her face with her hands and shrank 
back, praying for the mountains to cover her, but 
his voice was kind. 

“ You are not afraid of me, my poor girl,” he 
said ; and then : “ Good lud, Sally, I am not go- 

ing to eat you. When you looked at me first I 
thought you were glad to see me, a mad thing to 
think, my girl, wasn’t it ? ” 

She blessed the slowness behind the handsome 
young face which had not discovered that it was 
the lover she expected to see and not the husband. 
Her heart slackened somewhat from its wild gal- 
lop. He drew her face upward to him; unloosed 
her fingers from before her eyes. 

“ What are you doing here, my girl ? ” he asked 
gently. “ You should be within doors. I don’t 
like this river. Ugh ! There are toads and water- 
newts in it, I am sure. ’Tis a dead stream.” 

“ I was thinking how ’twould be to lie at the 
bottom of it,” Sally said quietly. 


222 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ What a devil of a thought ! ” Sir Charles com- 
mented in a shocked voice. “ I see you have been 
left too much alone. It’s devilish vaporish here. 
Come to a fire where we can talk. I’m deuced 
Hungry and cold, and you make my flesh creep, 
Sally.” 

He drew her arm within his. She noticed idly 
that he was in a riding dress, and how well his 
figure looked in it : the riding whip he carried tucked 
under one arm; his cocked hat was set rakishly to 
one side. His spurs clanked as he walked. 

“ There is no accommodation for your horse,” 
she said. “Is it Mercury?” 

“ Mercury has fallen lame. ’Tis the Bastable 
mare. A pretty thing but ill-tempered. I left her 
at Goodwood House. They told me you had no 
stables.” 

“ You should not ride her,” said Sally. " She is 
a treacherous devil of a beast.” 

It was so easy to fall back into the old ways with 
him, now that she was no longer terrified of him. 
She was full of amazement. He behaved as though 
he had nothing to forgive, no honor to defend. 
She hardly knew whether to love him for his gen- 
tleness or to be dismayed. 

She watched him eating with the appetite of a 


SHE CHOOSES THE HARD WAY 223 

hunter. He pressed food on her, but she would 
have none of it, sitting by and watching him, in 
her long plain black dress wearing the air of a 
penitent. She was wondering at the soft downi- 
ness of his skin like a young creature's, at his un- 
flawed color, the brightness of his eyes. Nothing 
could be less like a betrayed husband. 

Presently his hunger being satisfied, he turned 
his chair toward her where she sat pale in the fire- 
light. 

“ Why do you wear those ugly blacks, Sally ? ” 
he asked discontentedly. “ Haven’t you a decent 
gown to put on? ” 

She did not answer him, and he came and stood 
by the fire, straddling the hearth-rug, his hands 
under his coat-tails, looking down at her from a 
height. 

“ I hate your blacks," he said, frowning. 
“ Louisa frightened me damnably. She said you 
wanted to go into a convent." 

Amazement upon amazement ! He spoke as 
though she were the Sally of a few months ago, 
the Sally who was gone forever. 

“And now," he said, “you frighten me with 
your talk of drowning. Ugh! I hate that river 
of yours, Sally. It reminds me of a time I was 


224 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


otter-hunting and waded in a dashed deep pool, 
and I trod on a water-rat — full on the slimy fat 
body of it. The brute nipped me. Poor wretch, 
I suppose it could do no less/’ 

Sally had a sickness of recoil. When she had 
thought of the bottom of the stream she had had 
no thought of the living creatures there. The rats 
would have eaten her. The place was full of them : 
she remembered now that her dogs were always 
hunting there, the scuffling in the reeds, the squeak 
of a rat when it was caught; and how the dogs 
came out with bloody ears and jaws. 

“I am glad I didn’t drown,” she said slowly. 

“You wouldn’t think of it again?” Sir Charles 
asked anxiously. 

“ I give you my promise.” 

“ Louisa wanted me to divorce you, Sally. All 
your family are in hopes of a divorce. Did she 
come from you? ” 

She shook her head violently. She was too 
weary even to desire a divorce. Could she go back 
beyond the moumfulness of that last parting and 
make a new marriage and begin life over again? 
She was not sure she even desired it. She wanted 
to be quiet, to rear her baby and make her peace 


SHE CHOOSES THE HARD WAY 225 

with God — in time, when she had brought the evil 
passions of her heart into subjection. 

“You would wish to marry again ?” she said, 
lifting her heavy eyes to him. 

“ Not I. After Sally no other woman could 
content me. I was not going to divorce you that 
that fellow might marry you.” A sudden 
fierce light glowed in his blue eyes and Sally saw 
that he was not indifferent. “ It was revenge 
enough for me when I heard you had left him. I 
waited for that. I knew you would prefer your 
God to him. ’Tis a way women have. If I had 
not known it — poor devil — I’d have run him 
through.” 


IV 

Sally was overwhelmed. How little she had 
known of her husband all those years, taking him 
to be so simple. She had dreaded that he would 
kill William Gordon. All the time he had left him 
contemptuously to what would befall him on the 
day when her conscience awakened and she should 
leave him. Her family might have pleaded, 
stormed, reasoned in vain if the virtuous woman 
in her, fashioned during many generations before 


226 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


she was born, ha3 not come awake, the first de- 
lirium of passion being over. She remembered 
her lover’s incredulity at first, his anger, his grief, 
his despair when he realized that she would go, that 
she must leave him, that something stronger than 
her will, stronger than the influence of friends, the 
opinion of the world, was to stand between them 
inflexibly forever. The struggle had exhausted 
her, drained her dry of feeling. Her husband had 
foreseen it all the time! Oh, it was a light shed 
on one she had thought so simple. Something of a 
new respect for Sir Charles sprang up in her heart. 
His contemptuous pity for the man who had stolen 
her from him was a masterpiece. She had a curi- 
ous whimsical vision of how it would work out 
in a play — with Mr. Garrick in the part of the 
husband. 


V 

“You will rest the night at Goodwood?” she 
asked. 

“If you turn me out I shall beg the duke’s hos- 
pitality,” he replied. “ But — we are yet husband 
and wife. Why not let bygones be bygones? If I 
forgive, no one else will dare say a word. Come 
home with me, Sally. I can not do without you 


SHE CHOOSES THE HARD WAY 227 

any longer. ’Tis fine hunting weather at Barton, 
soft and still, with the scent lying. I acknowledge 
I was to blame. I was always after the horses. 
You might well think I’d forgotten I had a wife. 
But I hadn’t, Sal, I hadn’t. You made salt and 
savor, my girl. It’s been infernally dull without 
you. I have as pretty a mare as ever stepped, the 
very brown of your eyes. Come home and let us 
be happy together. If I don’t forget you shall 
never know that I remember.” 

His magnanimity overwhelmed her. Tears stood 
in her eyes and relieved her heart. 

“ You are very generous, Sir Charles,” she fal- 
tered. 

“Generous! Not I. I’ve suffered damnably, 
Sal, damnably. I couldn’t have kept my hands 
off him if it wasn’t that I knew you’d make him 
suffer more than a quick death would do. What’s 
death to a man for whom Sally has given up the 
world? Don’t let’s talk of him. He’s done. 
You’ve sent him out in the wilderness. Your duty 
lies with me. I’ll never visit it on you or the brat. 
Come home with me, Sal.” 

She looked up at him, and all the graciousness 
of his youth and comeliness overwhelmed her. He 
was immortally young and handsome by the sad 


228 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


and worn lover of her life for whom she had de- 
serted him. He had always been kind. The mem- 
ory of a thousand kindnesses rushed over her in 
a flood. He had been so sunny, so sweet-tempered, 
so debonair in their years together. And now he 
was offering her the shelter of his name once again : 
a restoration to the esteem of the world — others, 
besides the family she had disgraced, would feel 
that so far as might be she had wiped out the dis- 
grace. There would be the safety, the honor, the 
happiness for the child. 

The prospect of a renewed life with Charles Bun- 
bury was for a moment in her mind; and it was 
a fair and peaceful vision enough. Barton, the 
home she had come to love with a passion — the 
old servants and friends, the dogs, the horses, old 
friends all: the good comradeship of the hunting 
days and the racing days together. How good it 
would be — how good ! 

But for another woman, a woman who had not 
her sin behind her. The virtuous woman in Sally 
had been as adamant to her lover: now she stood 
as adamant to herself, closing the doors of possible 
happiness in her own face. She would not go back 
to her husband. Intolerable, impossible idea ! Her 
life was pledged to prayer and penitence and fast- 


SHE CHOOSES THE HARD WAY 229 

mg. A great passion had undone her. She must 
pay the price novV. There was no turning back 
from the narrow and straight way of salvation she 
had marked out for her treading. 

VI 

“ You will come back to me, Sally? ” 

He looked down at her ; and the confident expres- 
sion of his face changed, passed through doubt to 
a piteous entreaty. Her face wore the look against 
which William Gordon had flung himself in vain. 
The hopelessness of it, the finality, turned her 
husband’s heart cold. Nevertheless, as the other 
man had done, he dashed himself against the wall 
of her resolve, broke himself uselessly. There was 
only penitence possible for her — not ease and a 
happy life and restoration to the favor of the 
world. His pleadings, his arguments with her, 
failed. At last, angry and miserable, he flung him- 
self from her presence and went out into the night. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE BEGINNING OF SPRING 

I 

F OR some five or six years after that night when 
her husband left her, Sally lived in as much, 
in more, seclusion than if she had had her will and 
been an inmate of a convent. She devoted herself 
to the care of her child, to gardening and such 
outdoor pursuits as she could carry on within her 
own small domain which she never left: she read 
a great deal, she carried on various good works, 
she prayed much. Sometimes she allowed herself 
the relaxation of music, but not often. She saw 
the members of her own family, but no one else. 
We have no record even that she saw Lady Susan 
O'Brien, who had returned to England with her 
husband in the year following Sally’s flight. 

So many summers, so many autumns, so many 
winters, so many springs, passed over Sally’s head 
while she lived dead to the world and content to 
be forgotten. Till one spring, to her grief, her 
dismay, her consternation, she found an irrational 
230 


THE BEGINNING OF SPRING 231 


hope begin to spring up in her heart. What was 
it she expected with the first crocus, the first song 
of the thrushes, under a pearly sky of February? 
She had been forgetting her repentance so far as 
to play with her child, and to laugh one of her high 
brilliant peals of laughter at some prank of the 
little creature. 

The first time she heard her own laughter she 
was overwhelmed with a sense of guilt, till old 
Bridget, peeping in at the open door of the nursery, 
said — 

“ Oh, glory be to God, ’tis good to hear your 
ladyship, and like fresh rain to the cracked earth 
the sound of your laughin’.” 

She found Sally standing still in a pause of con- 
sternation. 

“ Oh, Bridget, I did not mean to laugfi so loud,” 
sfie said. “ I was forgetting how loud I could laugh 
• in the old days. I have no right to it now. And 
see the child. I have startled my poppet. She did 
not know that her mother could laugh.” 

“ ’Twas time for her to learn it, then,” the old 
Irishwoman said, with a grim affectionateness. 
“ Her little ladyship has a right to a mother that 
can laugh : and beggin’ your ladyship’s pardon, I 
wouldn’t give a fig for a religion that wasn’t cheer- 


232 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


ful, aye, an’ joyful. I’d take it as a sign that God 
is good an’ forgives.” 

Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings and 
simple people ! ! ! Sally took it for an oracle. 
After that the house was often brightened by her 
laughter: although in her moments alone she won- 
dered what the spring in her heart might mean — 
whether it was a snare for her foolish feet, a temp- 
tation, or a sign from God like the arch in heaven 
that the days of His anger were over and there 
was a covenant of His peace upon the world. 

II 

In 1776 Sir Charles, after delaying all those 
years, finally divorced Sally. She went back to 
being Lady Sarah Lennox and resigned herself to 
a quiet and peaceful old age, full of good works 
and holy living, with her child and her people for 
solace in the little house her dear brother, the duke, 
had begun to build for her. 

III 

Meanwhile she was coming back to an interest 
in the world, her heart healed and grown strong 
in the solitude. The divorce for a time opened her 
wounds, till she realized that Sir Charles did not 


THE BEGINNING OF SPRING 233 


seek a release for himself, but only to set her free. 
The men who had loved Sally were not quick to 
console themselves. William Gordon was some- 
where out of England. She was glad he had let 
her alone during all those years. Over is over, 
dead is dead : and she had no desire to be any man’s 
wife. She had her child, and she was surrounded 
by many dear pets; and the flowers came up in her 
garden-beds year after year for a fruition of her 
hopes. Love had brought her bitter trouble : it had 
shipwrecked her life, and she had only saved her 
soul by watching and prayer and fasting and much 
tribulation. At thirty years of age Sally resigned 
herself to being done with love. She dreaded it 
as a devouring fire, and was glad to be come to 
an age of quiet pulses and sober emotions. “ I am 
now come to thirty years of age,” she wrote in 1775, 
“ and am resigned to being an old woman.” 

IV 

In 1775 began again her correspondence with 
Lady Susan O’Brien, from which we learn so much 
of her mind and doings. She has been drawn out 
of her solitude to stay with Lady Louisa Conolly 
at Castletown. This uprooting shook her so com- 
pletely out of the habits she had formed in her 


234 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


solitary life that it was easy for her to go back to 
those of the life before the great change. 

Lady Susan and her husband are at this period 
living at the old Manor House at Stinsford near 
Dorchester, which belonged to Lady Susan’s 
mother, Lady Ilchester: and they are still seeking 
that ideal job for Mr. O’Brien, in which they shall 
live happy ever after, a job long in coming. Indeed, 
poor Lady Susan’s aristocratic relatives seem to 
have been able or willing to do singularly little to 
afford her a modest settlement in life; and her hus- 
band, charming and constant as he was, seems to 
have been singularly unable to stand on his own 
feet. 

Perhaps there were letters between Sally and her 
dearest Sue all those years which may have been 
destroyed. The first of the resumed letters sug- 
gests no gap in the correspondence. 

V 

Sally is very proud. She is all for reconciling 
Lady Susan and her family: and that reconciliation 
has hung fire for many years. But Sally accepts 
her punishment — runs to meet it even : a part of it 
which galls her proud soul — although it has striven 



Lady Susan O’Brien 






■ 

















































































THE BEGINNING OF SPRING 235 


after humility on its knees — is that people may not 
desire to meet her. 

“ Lord and Lady Stavordale have made Louisa 
a visit. I did not intend to force my company on 
either Lady Stavordale or Lady Harriet, your sister ; 
but Lady Stavordale inquired about me in so 
obliging a manner that I could not any longer deny 
myself the pleasure of seeing them. . . . One rea- 
son also for my seeing them was that I had no 
other house to go to, and as they stayed a few days 
I could not well confine myself to my room. I 
hope Lord and Lady Ilchester will not disapprove of 
my acquaintance with those ladies, for I have too 
many obligations to your father and mother not 
to be hurt at the thoughts of displeasing them, but 
I think if they knew the pleasure I have had in 
seeing so very amiable and beautiful a creature as 
Lady Stavordale, they would not be sorry I had 
so much satisfaction.” 

Lady Susan annotates this — 

“ She is the humblest creature in all the world : 
very different from our fine ladies whose only fear 
is to be found out: but she is as proud as the 
devil.” 

“You will wonder perhaps at my sudden fancy 
for the Beauteous Irishwoman, as they call her,” 


236 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


Sally goes on. Lady Stavordale was an O’Grady 
of Limerick — alas! that such beauty and grace 
should pass ! — “ but indeed you can not wonder, for 
her face and manner are so bewitching, and I defy 
any person of taste and feeling to pass a day with 
her and not feel charmed with her, except it is some 
of the line people whose taste is spoilt pour la belle 
nature , and they indeed may accuse her of the 
horrible fault of not powdering her beautiful hair, 
and differing in every respect from une belle 
maitresse, for she seems not to have a guess that 
she is the prettiest of creatures.” 

It is a proof of how Sally has mended in her 
solitude that she flings herself heart and soul into 
the Sisyphus-like task of reconciling Lady Sue to 
her brothers and sisters. Now that the passions 
are all dead, there is a certain sad amusement in 
reading of how Lady Sue, not a bit quelled by her 
years of a humble estate, “ had written a violent 
letter ” about her Aunt Digby ; and how her family 
was all by the ears ; and how the sweet Lady Stavor- 
dale deduced from her husband’s indignation 
against his sister his great love of her, since “ such 
excessive disapproval ” could be only evoked by one 
who was the object of much love to the “ disapprov- 
ing” party. 


THE BEGINNING OF SPRING 237 

Sally is never tired of giving good advice: there 
are reams of it: and one can see the graceful head 
bent over the writing-table as Sally evolved schemes 
and representations that would make every one ac- 
knowledge that they had been entirely in the 
wrong, although unintentionally so, and every one 
else in the right, although they seemed not to be 
so. 

Lady Susan replies with a full setting-forth of 
the unkindness of her family — they seem to have 
been a prickly lot indeed. “My brothers and sis- 
ters are very unlike yours. I wish there was a 
Lady Louisa among us to keep us from freezing 
as we do when we are together. Lady S. is the 
most likely to do so.” 


VI 

The American War of Independence is now in 
all men’s minds. Sally will have Susan’s view of 
it. One of her own views is so truly feminine and 
Sallyish that I must quote it — 

“ I suppose you are violent for your American 
friends. I hope they are good sort of people, but 
I don’t love Presbyterians and I love the English 
soldiers, so that I, at present, hate those who use 
them ill beyond the laws of war, which scalping 


238 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


certainly is: and I don’t believe a word of the sol- 
diers doing more than they ought.” 

Here is a bit of Sally’s craft — 

“ As you are so near your father and mother I 
do hope you may profit as much as possible by the 
neighborhood. Your mother loves cards: you 
should make it a point to have a party for her, and 
whoever she likes are those to choose.” 

She is devoted to her little daughter, the more 
that she can never repair the wrong she has done 
her. There is an air of asking nothing for the 
child: one would almost call it belittling if the 
mother- fondness did not flash out now and again. 
Louisa Bunbury has a certain likeness to the beauti- 
ful and charming Lady Stavordale. 

“ I saw her likeness to my girl and am both glad 
and sorry for it, for a plain likeness of a pretty 
woman is terrible, but yet I like to see it myself, 
because I admire Lady S. so excessively. I wish 
my girl might be like her in everything. I have not 
the least chance of resembling Mrs. O’Grady in her 
education and example, for I hear there was never 
so charming a woman, and Lady S.’s greatest ad- 
mirers say that she could not help being charming 
brought up by such a mother. 

“ Since you desire to have an account of me I 


THE BEGINNING OF SPRING 239 

shall tell you that I pass my time very pleasantly, 
I live almost all the day long with my sister. Mr. 
Conolly seems to like my being here, and shows 
me so much kindness that I hope it is not disagree- 
able to him, and Pm sure it makes Louisa happy, 
for she scarce passes a day without telling me that 
having me with her is one of the greatest pleasures 
she has: there is something so pleasant in being 
so sincerely loved and welcomed that it is not won- 
derful I should be perfectly happy. We have a 
good deal of company. They come in a very pleas- 
ant way, dropping in at dinner-time and going 
away soon after, so that they never interfere with 
any employment we have. Some of my old ac- 
quaintances among the ladies have been vastly civil 
to me, quite kind indeed, and some of Louisa’s 
acquaintances have been very civil, and great part of 
both sorts have taken no notice of me. Je m’en 
console for this reason ; I don’t want company , for 
I have society , which is better, and as I always take 
the civilities I meet with from ladies as a favor 
I’m not ambitious of being obliged to people I 
don’t care about: and yet when they do it from a 
good-natured motive I am always doved with it and 
like them vastly. The only person whose counte- 
nance I regret is the Dowager Kildare’s; and it 


240 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


does vex me that she doesn’t take notice of me, but 
I can easily comprehend her prejudice against it, 
though she is a vastly good and sensible woman, and 
above all the prejudices of old age : but this I suppose 
strikes her as countenancing a fault , and she can’t 
bring herself to it, and indeed I don’t wonder, 
though I intend to try all I can to persuade her to 
it, and I don’t despair of it in time. I can’t give 
you a positive account of my good behavior, for I’m 
a partial judge. I hope I am very grave and digni- 
fied.” 

Lady Susan annotates this letter — 

“Nonsense! She would always be a queen. I 
should like to see her among the Irish ladies, with 
her proud head bent. Humble, she would be more 
than ever a queen.” 


VII 

“ I am vastly pleased with this place and with 
my sister Leinster’s place at Carton, and with about 
four or five places along the banks of the Liffey to- 
ward Dublin : rocky ground, a river, trees and some 
taste in gardening must make them pretty. There 
is also a chain of mountains to bound the prospect, 
which is very pretty, but then tout est dit. The 
country is ugly, poor, neglected, bare of trees: the 


THE BEGINNING OF SPRING 241 

roads are between mudd walls: no field to ride in, 
and desperate hedges and ditches to cross if one 
goes out of the road, so that riding seems impos- 
sible for a woman, walking out of the grounds still 
worse, and hunting, coursing and following shoot- 
ers quite impracticable. What I admire in Sussex 
is that a house with three or four acres of land is all 
I should want, and I could amuse myself with the 
beauties of the country without depending on the 
neighborhood or my friends or anybody/' 

VIII 

“ Castletown, July 29th, 1775. 

“ My Dearest Lady Susan, 

“ It is with the greatest satisfaction I have 
read your letter relative to your family, and I could 
never praise you enough for the propriety of it, if 
the devil hadn’t tempted you to put in some of your 
comical expressions, so it was impossible for me to 
,show your letter to Lady Stavordale.” 

Here follows a lecture on the desirable dutiful 
behavior to an elder brother, illustrated by the 
example of “ my sister Leinster,” who two years 
after the death of her duke married, to the amaze- 
ment of her world, her son’s Scotish tutor, Mr. 
William Ogilvie. 


242 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“You know that being a widow is of itself a 
reason for making her her own mistress if her age 
did not: you know too that when by Lady Bella- 
mont’s impertinence she was forced to take un parti , 
she told her son, her mother-in-law and her sister 
that she thought it very possible she should marry 
Mr. Ogilvie. They all agreed in the same thing 
for answer, that they could not wish it, but if she 
was happy it was all they wished: and that she 
could not choose a person they had a higher regard 
for. With such a sanction you would perhaps 
think that there was nothing for her to do but to 
inform her brother tout simplement, but I wish you 
had seen the affectionate, the reasonable manner in 
which she wrote to my brother, and indeed to all 
her friends. One of her expressions to him is : ‘I 
am content that you should call me a fool and an 
old fool: that you should blame me and say you 
did not think me capable of such a folly: talk it 
over, say what you please, but remember that all I 
ask of you is your affection and tenderness.’ My 
brother says there is no resisting her, owning her- 
self in the wrong and begging so hard to be loved, 
so you see the good effects of meekness: I assure 
you my sister gains friends instead of loosing any 
by her manner.” 


THE BEGINNING OF SPRING 243 

To this bit of family history I can not resist 
adding another. Mrs. Delany tells us that the 
Duchess of Leinster was reputed the proudest 
woman in Ireland, if not in England and Scotland 
as well. Her granddaughter Pamela, Lady Camp- 
bell, has told us of the first introduction to her of 
“ the Scotchman who kept a school in Cole’s Lane,’’ 
whom she was afterward to marry. 

“ Lady Leitrim was one day spending the evening 
at Leinster House with the duchess when the groom 
of the chamber came in to announce to her grace 
that the new tutor, Mr. Ogilvie, had arrived. 

“ ‘ Show him to his room.’ 

“ ‘ If you please, your grace, is he to have wax 
candles or tallow ? ’ 

“ Upon which the duchess turned to Lady Lei- 
trim and asked — 

“ ‘ Qu’en pensez-vous? ’ 

“ Before Lady Leitrim had time to answer the 
duchess decided for herself. 

“ ‘ Molds will do till we see a little later/ ” 

IX 

To continue Sally’s lecture to Lady Susan upon 
her manner to her family. 

“ I will tell you fairly they think you give your- 


244 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


self airs, and I know of old that nobody but a very 
few unprejudiced persons can put up with that. 
You know too that, as I have said, your manner is 
apt to set people against you: you toss up your 
head , a great crime in many people’s eyes, for it 
denotes contempt, and you have a directing way. 
Lady Stavordale let drop a hint that made me say 
your manner was naturally so, and that Lord Hol- 
land had increased it greatly by admiring it in you, 
so that I believed you did it without knowing it now 
from custom. ‘ Why,’ says Lady S., * does she do 
so to you ? ’ ‘ Oh, yes,’ I said ; ‘ to everybody, it’s 

her manner of speaking: she has no thought of 
governing no more than you have, but it’s her way , 
in short.’ ‘ Well, I’m glad to hear that,’ says Lady 
S. ; ‘ for it is one of the things they are most angry 
with her for; they say she wants to govern me. 
Now I really attributed that manner to her know- 
ing that I was very young in the world, and that 
she thought it right to direct me a little. I thought 
it not the least unreasonable, although not very 
pleasant, but as her intention could only be for what 
she thought my good I never took it in the least 
ill, but I’m afraid it displeased them a good deal.’ 

“ Tell Lady Ilchester that I admire her sweet little 
granddaughter, Eliza, of all things, and think her 


THE BEGINNING OF SPRING 245 


very like Lord Stavordale, a little like Lady Ilchester 
and the image of little Lord Holland; in short, alto- 
gether she is a sweet, little, fair, fat child, and I 
take it for granted will be a violent favorite. Elle 
a la physionomie remplie d’ esprit” 

Lady Susan comments on this furiously. 

“Direct! Govern! She would direct and gov- 
ern if she were dead. Yet she is such a friend that 
I must needs forgive her.” 


CHAPTER XVII 

IN WHICH SARAH IS CAST DOWN 

I 

T HE American War of Independence was in 
Sally’s mind more than most people’s, because 
the British General Howe was married to a sister 
of Mr. Conolly, and was staying at Castletown 
House, while her husband was leading the troops 
in America. Moreover, General Lee, who is on the 
other side, is a Bunbury cousin ; and it is a question 
of Lady Susan’s r as to Sally’s opinion of him which 
draws forth her ladyship on the whole question. 

“ I think His Majesty and poor Mr. Lee are much 
upon a par: they are both vain and obstinate; the 
King has a bad cause and Mr. Lee a good one, for 
the King wants to oppress and Mr. Lee wants to 
put it out of his power; but, in my mind, both 
their intentions will come at last to the same thing, 
for if the King can oppress I don’t think it at all 
clear he will do it, and if he does his son may be a 
better man, and if he isn’t there will still be time 
to fight. Though I am certainly no admirer of the 
246 


SARAH IS CAST DOWN 


247 

King’s character I don’t believe he is a bit more 
nor so great a tyrant as my cousin Lee would be 
were he King himself, for he loves his own way 
as well as anybody. Only two things I think won’t 
bear dispute — first, that those who cause most lives 
to be lost are the worst people; secondly, that the 
Bostonians being chiefly Presbyterians and from the 
North of Ireland are daily proved to be very, very 
base people, being quarrelsome, discontented, hypo- 
critical, enthusiastical, lying people. Yet I hate 
the King should conquer too, for he sits there at 
his ease at Windsor and fancies he has nothing to 
do but order America to be conquered ; he will grow 
so insolent about it that it will provoke me beyond 
all patience ; and were it not for the blood, any drop 
of which I think of as much consequence as the 
King’s, I should wish him to have a complete morti- 
fication in seeing Ireland whisked away from him 
while his troops are sailing; he uses poor dear Ire- 
land so ill already that he does not deserve to keep 
it. 

“ Louisa is trembling for fear of an invasion, 
upon which she concludes they will cut down all the 
wood here and so ruin the beauty of Castletown. 
And now, enough of politics.” 

“ Enough of politics, indeed ! ” It is quite evi- 


248 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


dent that Lady Sarah is not done with the world. 
There is a lovely picture of her as the Mourning 
Bride about this time, soft and pale. One wonders 
if she was not more bewitching in her sadness than 
in her brilliancy. 


II 

We come to the time of the divorce, which must 
have put Sally in the dust again for the time being. 
The hour has gone by when she can have the shelter 
of her husband’s name if she will. Alas, he has 
grown indifferent, with the easy good-natured in- 
difference which is the most immovable of all. 
Sally is frank out of the bitterness of her heart. 

“ Goodwood, April 10th, 1776. 

“ I do not wonder that any report should come 
to you even in your desert, for I never yet saw the 
place that was free from them in England, and I 
suppose other countries are the same only we don’t 
know it. I don’t know what you have heard about 
me, only of a divorce taking place now which 
should have taken place long ago. This piece of 
news is true, and I am not sorry, since Sir Charles, 
whatever he felt once , has now positively affirmed 
that he has no desire to live with me again. You 


SARAH IS CAST DOWN 


249 

will know what it costs me to write this. I did 
flatter myself that he was not indifferent toward 
me, but I ought to have realized that, as we did 
not meet, his indifference to me must have been 
growing day by day. 

“ There is no news that I have heard of that other 
you ask for. But, enclosed as I am within the walls 
of Goodwood as of a nunnery, there might be news 
that would never come my way. Wherever he may 
be, so long as he is in this life I do not think he has 
forgotten me. I am sure I should know if he were 
dead. The common wind would carry it to me; 
everything would tell it. 

“ This thing has shaken me out of my hard-won 
peace. A week ago I was full of an unreasonable 
hope and joy. I was delighting in my flowers, in 
the songs of the birds and the prattle of my en- 
gaging Louisa. I thought I had come to the period 
when Heaven willed that I might rejoice again. I 
was wrong, as it proved, and I have been reminded 
roughly. 

“ I am ashamed of my little world. The papers 
do not trouble me, for I do not look at them — and 
yet I am vexed with the knowledge that other peo- 
ple do if I do not. I am very eager to go anywhere 
out of the way, and the duke has been so good as 


250 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


to hurry his intended journey abroad to take me 
with him, so that I may be gone before all this 
wretched business begins. Sue, I feel as though 
I should die of it. My innocent child, too! Oh, 
Sue, if we could only see the intolerable punish- 
ment we lay up for ourselves when we deviate from 
the paths of duty we would never stray. The safe 
narrow ways are best. 

“ I confess I thought Sir Charles had still some 
tenderness left for me. As to the report of my 
being about to be married, I assure you it is not 
true. I am now come to thirty years of age, when 
a woman is sober if ever she is. I have entered 
the quiet vale that leads to old age and eternity. 
After thirty it is unbecoming for a woman to think 
of a husband, although there are instances, like my 
sister Leinster, in which the rash step has had no 
evil results. 

“ My spirits are not so low as they are worried 
and perplexed; I long to be gone, as being quite 
alone is not pleasant, and yet I hate to see anybody, 
even the servants, whom I know study the news- 
papers, and, I suppose, make their remarks on me 
as I sit at dinner.” 


SARAH IS CAST DOWN 


251 


III 

The divorce was granted in May 1776, and Lady 
Sally had to bear it in England as best she could, 
not being sufficiently well to escape the bruit of it 
by going abroad with her brother the duke to his 
farms in Aubigne. That must have been a hard 
summer for her ladyship; she did no letter-writing 
even to her dearest Sue, an indication of a dis- 
ordered state of mind with her. Obviously her 
thoughts had been turning toward her husband 
in those years of her solitude; and it must have 
been a terrible blow to her when the divorce pro- 
ceedings were taken after an interval long enough 
to make it unlikely that they ever would be taken. 

She writes again in September — 

“ I am sure you will be glad to hear my health is 
now quite restored; I am so much better than I 
w T as that I am a different creature. I am not a 
philosopher, for I am frightened at being sick and 
fancy I shall never recover, and now I am well I 
do a thousand foolish things and think I never can 
be ill ; and -so I have got the toothache and a violent 
cold with sitting out in the dew with my Aunt 
Albemarle, because I would fancy that at thirty one 
can do as one does at seventy-three, which is quite a 


252 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


mistake. I am not young enough for anybody, I 
find, for I really feel myself growing old in a thou- 
sand things ; yet there are times I am younger than 
my little Louisa, and I forget everything and romp, 
till I am abashed with her solemn gaze. She is a 
sober puss. 

“ Have you heard anything with reference to a 
marriage for Sir Charles? If there is no such thing 
I am at a loss to know why he brought the divorce 
after all this time. He is very attractive and none 
knows it better than I. 

“ I was in town for a few days with the Duchess 
of Richmond, who took me to have something done 
to my teeth, which have given me woeful trouble. 
I hope to be delivered from the toothache all winter 
which of late has been my lot. I used never to 
know what the toothache was, nor the heartache. 
I saw not a creature in town, nor, indeed, did I wish 
to see any one, since you and Lady Holland were 
not there. Adieu, my dearest Sue.” 

IV 

“ You talk of the time when we used to fancy 
great things. I know what you mean and I am 
most sincerely glad I am not queen. Sarah Len- 
nox would not change places voith Her Majesty of 


SARAH IS CAST DOWN 


253 


England . In the first place I should have quar- 
reled with the King long before this, and my head 
would have been off, perhaps. My God, what a 
horrible thing this war is! If I had loved and 
liked and married the King, and not had interest 
enough to prevent this war, I should certainly go 
mad to think a person I loved was the cause of it. 

“My brother is going to fit up a house for me 
just by Goodwood; then, whenever you are in Lon- 
don, you must come and make me a visit, chez moi. 

“I desire my compliments to Mr. O’Brien; and 
tell him he could not apply to a better person than 
me in the dog way , for in the first place I shall be de- 
lighted to give him a dog, and in the second I pique 
myself on understanding the dear creatures; but in 
order to suit him exactly I must ask him several 
questions which I have enclosed. My brother has 
a very pretty breed, but it’s of the old Holland 
House Ranger breed and inherit all his crossness 
2nd pomp, which some people don’t like ; now I do. 
There is another breed which is all good temper 
and gentleness. My brothers have also famous 
pointers which I can get one of. I have some very 
pretty spaniels, but till I know exactly what he wants 
I can’t tell if mine are the best sort for Mr. O’Brien. 
I am mighty glad he takes to some country sport. 


2 54 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


Have you a horse that is pleasant? You used to 
like it vastly formerly. Adieu/’ 

V 

A year later we hear of Sarah’s house, the quiet 
nest to which she has come, which is to content her 
till she is carried out of it to a narrower. 

“ My house is built ; a part of it is actually cov- 
ered in; the rest will be built in the summer, and 
the following summer I hope to inhabit it, and never 
to leave it excepting for brief visits to my dearest 
sisters. How I shall enjoy the comforts of a 
home , a pretty home and one given to me by the 
best of brothers, built by his own plan and owes all 
its beauties to his plantations, so that ’tis entirely 
created by him, which adds most excessively to its 
merits with me. It is in his park, just a mile from 
Goodwood, in a valley open to the south, with a 
little prospect, and all the hills round it planted, 
which make fine sheltered and dry walks and rides, 
and, from them there is a noble prospect; in short, 
it is exactly what I like , and you know that a para- 
dise can’t please more than just what one likes. 
Till it is finished I lead a vagabond life, sometimes 
at Stoke, at Goodwood, and sometimes at a little 
puddling bathing-place of my brother’s by the sea, 


SARAH IS CAST DOWN 


255 


where I have spent almost all the summer. It 
agrees with my daughter and with me, too. I shall 
therefore pursue it all next summer, and take my 
leave of it when I go home, for I doubt that when 
once settled it will not be a trifle that will force me 
from my shell, in which I look forward to years of 
a peaceful growing old. 

“ My brother and the duchess go to Paris next 
spring; not for my brother to turn Catholic and sit 
in the French Parliament as reported, but to return 
the civilities he met with. 

“ There is also a fine lady there whom I hear the 
French say qu’il aime avec passion, and he doesn’t 
deny it, but tells the duchess and us all he must go 
see her again, which the duchess takes with a vast 
easiness. I knew her and think her excessively 
pleasing and quite the proper age for him, for I tell 
him I did not at all approve of his flirtation with a 
little dab of a miss twenty years younger than him- 
self, and he allows it was ridiculous; and this affair 
is quite proper, dans toutes les formes. 

“ After Christmas I shall have Goodwood House 
to myself, and I don’t see why you should not make 
me a visit. I have some hopes of persuading Lady 
Holland to do so, and you might come together. I 
hear she likes her house at Windsor vastly; she 


256 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


leads a very retired life, but is in good spirits and 
cheerful, vastly occupied with her children and en- 
joying the society of a few friends. Our dear 
amiable Stephen could not have made a better 
choice. Alas! that death should so soon have cut 
short their felicity. I don’t much wonder at his 
widow avoiding the life of the fine ladies. I 
won’t affect the old lady so much as to say they 
did not do so in our time, for they certainly did 
much the same in every respect but the racketing 
their health so entirely away as they do now. 

“ The pretty Duchess of Devonshire, who by all 
accounts has no fault but her delicate health, dines 
at seven summer as well as winter, goes to bed at 
three and lies in bed till four ; she has hysteric fits in 
the morning and dances in the evening; she bathes, 
rides, dances for ten days and lies in bed for an- 
other ten ; indeed, I can’t forgive her, or rather her 
husband, for ruining her health, though I think she 
may wear ten thousand figaries in her dress without 
the smallest blame. 

“ Pray give my best compliments to Mr. O’Brien 
and tell him I hope he has not wanted his dogs this 
year, for it is not my fault I did not send them as 
they were not born; but I beg to know if he still 
wishes a pointer and two spaniels, because in spring 


SARAH IS CAST DOWN 


257 


I can send them to London for him just before you 
go out of town, as I wish them to be under your 
protection when they arrive and not to be neglected 
by servants.” 


VI 

“ So young Lady Ilchester means to be sur un 
certain pied. Tant mieux: I thought she had too 
much sense not to make a proper figure if she un- 
dertook to make one at all. What I heard was 
a little circumstance that made me see more than 
ever the absurdity of fine people. I heard that Lady 
Ilchester appeared at the Opera without powder, 
dressed in a poking queer way, with Lady Sefton, 
and caused great speculation to know who that 
queer but pretty little vulgar woman with Lady Sef- 
ton could be. Now to be sure it requires but a small 
examination to find out that the genteel Lady Sef- 
ton is in nature a most complete vulgar: to my 
certain knowledge her gentility never went further 
than her clothes, and ‘ the pretty vulgar little 
woman ’ has more true real gentility about her than 
most people I know, for her understanding is en- 
larged and her mind very far above the common 
rate. But such is the world that a little powder and 
gauze properly disposed secures a proper respect, 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


258 

and the neglect of it gives a mauvais ton. But I 
fancy a good house and good suppers will soon re- 
cover the faux pas of going to the Opera sans 
poudre . 

“ My sister has met Sir Charles at a rout. She 
says he inquired after my health most amiably and 
also my little Louisa, which is the way to a mother’s 
heart. My sister reports that although he receives 
many civilities, he is no way particular with any 
one and seemed vastly bored when she first ob- 
served him, but he cheered up most excessively on 
catching sight of her.” 


VII 

The letters which follow are much concerned 
with the fatal illness of that pretty creature, Lady 
Holland, who died of consumption in October 1778, 
and with public affairs. But we like best to hear 
of Sarah in her domestic moments, as when she 
and her little girl are at the sea in that “ puddling ” 
bathing-place of the duke’s, which would be — what 
flourishing seaside town now? 

“ I am by the seaside, bathing my daughter, who 
is a poor skinny miss and recovers her looks pro- 
digiously with the sea-air and bathing: she is the 
awkwardest girl I ever saw, which provokes me, 


SARAH IS CAST DOWN 


259 


for she is one of those people whom all the teaching 
upon earth will never make graceful. So I have 
given up her having a pleasing manner, for I will 
not be like Lord Chesterfield, fretting and wishing 
for what is not the nature of the beast. I there- 
fore content myself, and am vastly contented with 
my little girl being no beauty , but excessively civil, 
obliging, good-natured, good-humored and sen- 
sible; and if I can moderate her giddiness, and 
make her apply enough to learn all necessary things 
for the full and complete enjoyment of a country 
life, I shall be satisfied. I have not the talent for 
education nor she the disposition to learn anything 
that calls for perseverance — although a sweet child 
to her mother: but she will never make a prodigy. 
Luckily I am no admirer of prodigies, so it’s no 
misfortune to me nor even mortifies my vanity: so 
long as it doesn’t hurt her happiness her being not 
brilliant, I have only her happiness to care for: 
and that I am sure is secured by a moderate amount 
of talents, rather than the reverse. I have been 
accounted very witty and clever: yet see what I 
have made of my life. I pray my child may be 
preserved from my pitfalls, of which a too great 
power to please the opposite sex must be accounted 


one. 


26 o 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ I have been forced to send your dogs to a 
gamekeeper, because they were so very naughty: 
but he keeps them in a house, so they won’t get 
mangy, and I hope will behave themselves prettily 
when they arrive, which shall be some time in the 
winter, by which time they will have learned how to 
behave themselves, and a basket shall go with 
them.” 

Lady Susan has annotated this : “ Poor dear 

Fop! He was the kindest, sweetest, faithfulest 
dog. He lived twelve years.” Alas ! the dear dead 
dogs, and the dear dead ladies! The wind sighs 
in the autumn branches as one reads, and there is a 
lamentation for all the summers past, and the birds 
that sang in the branches, and the dead roses and 
the cheeks of damask that crumbled before the 
touch of Time like the dead leaf rustling in the 
winter forest. 

The house that is to bound Sarah’s hopes and 
fears goes on apace. 

“You can not imagine how pretty my house is. 
I have laid out occupation for myself for many 
years, as I am determined to furnish it by slow 
degrees, for the sake of my pocket as well as of 
my amusement. My brother puts chimneypieces 
and ceilings for me, most prettily decorated, and 


SARAH IS CAST DOWN 


261 

I shall live for a year or two very comfortably with 
bare plastered walls, and do the bedchambers neat 
and comfortable first, and so on till it’s all done. 
My house consists of a large staircase of twenty by 
sixteen, a housekeeper’s room on one side, a pantry 
on the other with a passage to the offices, which are 
out of the house; and then to the front I have a 
drawing-room of twenty-eight by eighteen, and a 
dining-room of eighteen square. Above are two 
bedchambers of eighteen square and a little dress- 
ing-room, and two smaller bedchambers at the back 
for servants. You see that nothing can be more 
compact. Besides this, there is a little greenhouse 
by way of pavilion to answer the offices, and a little 
colonnade of four columns on each side to join them 
to the house, so that it’s both pretty and convenient. 
I am only afraid I shall ruin myself in furnishing it, 
for nothing ugly should be put in so pretty a house, 
and to split the difference, I mean to have every- 
thing plain, which is neither ugly nor dear. 

“ Adieu, my dearest Lady Susan.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


FALSE DAWN 

I 

^11 THAT part of Ireland is your sister Lady 
V V Fanny in ? If in Dublin I should suppose 
my sister Louisa has seen her. But perhaps noth- 
ing happened to bring them much acquainted, and 
Louisa does not seek enlarging her acquaintance, 
for she has so many more than she can manage 
(leading a country life) that she could not do it 
but for the footing which her peculiar character 
has established, and which nobody but herself could 
venture at; and, indeed, I believe that it is be- 
cause she aims at nothing that so great an allow- 
ance is given her. Do you know that she scarce 
visits anybody, nor does she receive visits dropping 
in at any odd times? But she now and then goes 
to town to see the world, and there she says, with 
such a civil good-natured face, that she is to blame, 
and tells the people it will be so good-natured of 
them to show forgiveness by coming and dining 
with her such a day, that they come; they see that 
262 


FALSE DAWN 


263 


she has ten thousand occupations and that she en- 
joys her home, so they go away pleased with their 
reception and bid her never think of a formal visit. 
She takes them at their word, upon condition that 
they will come every now and then to dinner on a 
Sunday, when she is always at home; so she has 
contrived to pay no visits , be liked, be civil and to 
have no trouble, for she escapes cards, which she 
doesn’t like, on the excuse of Sunday, and in sum- 
mer she diverts them as well as a fine house, pretty 
place, variety of company and a hearty welcome 
will do. At Christmas they have always about a 
month’s round of different parties, and several 
fetes in the course of the year.” 

This, it will be owned, is a very pretty bit of 
observation on Sarah’s part. 

II 

“ I have sent you the two dogs, which I hope 
will arrive safe to you and that you will like them ; 
but pray tell Mr. O’Brien he must be very careful 
how they first walk out after they have recovered 
their shyness, for if he doesn’t from the beginning 
keep them within bounds and make them obedient 
to every call, they will hunt sheep like little devils; 
so that all their good conduct depends on their first 


264 ROSE of the garden 

method of training, which requires constant atten- 
tion at first. The tail of the red and white one is 
very long; I don’t dislike it if they are pert dogs 
and look grand , like the old Ranger, but if they 
drop it and look sneaking it is too long. However, 
if you have it cut I advise that the operator may 
not be a person that the dog is expected to love, 
for he has a great deal too much sense to forgive 
such a person at his age. They are both very 
different characters, just like their father and 
mother. The red and white is waxing good- 
humored and likes everybody; the black and white 
is sulky, attached and obstinate. I hope they will 
turn out good spaniels, for they are of a remark- 
ably good breed. 

“ You abuse poor Abbotsbury lor being dull. I 
have a notion ’tis what I should like of all things 
— a quiet place by the open sea. I am very much 
in love with my house, but I doubt I shall ever 
again be so happy as I was at Barton. Do you 
hear anything that Sir Charles is like to be mar- 
ried? He said — but what does it matter what 
men say? When I see what I have gained by 
being pleasing I am glad my child is plain. The 
card-playing which you delight in would kill me. 
’Tis not living , to my mind. I believe I should 


FALSE DAWN 


265 


have the vapors all day if I played an hour at 
cards, so you see how little of a fashionable I am; 
my aversion to them you can not imagine, but my 
daughter makes up, for she will play them forever 
if I was to let her. I think it an odd taste for a 
child. 

“ You ask me about Mrs. Darner. She does not 
live with her mother, but in a house she has hired. 
She set off upon the most perfect intentions of 
prudence; she was not ashamed of saying she had 
been rich and was now poor, and therefore should 
not attempt any expense beyond her income, which 
is very good for all the comforts of life though not 
for magnificence, and she piqued herself upon 
showing she could give up her former expectations 
of grandeur with philosophy. She likes traveling, 
books, a comfortable home, both in town and ( for 
a little while) in the country; and those she prefers 
to fine clothes, fine equipages, and finery of all 
kinds. How long these wise resolutions will last I 
can’t tell, for she is vain and likes to be at the head 
of the great world, and is easily led into that style 
of life. Upon the whole, I think she is a sensible 
woman without sensibility, a pretty one without 
pleasing, a prudent one without conduct. I believe 
no one will have a right to tax her with any fault, 


266 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


and yet she will be abused, which, I take it, is owing 
to a want of sweetness in her disposition : she is too 
strictly right ever to be beloved.” 

Ill 

Lady Sarah’s next letter contains a full, true and 
particular account of the court-martial on Admiral 
Keppel, “ who owes the glorious result of this trial 
to the four pleasantest of all reasons : first, to truth ; 
secondly, to the uprightness of his judges; thirdly, 
to the general high esteem and respect of all sea- 
officers; fourthly, to the fears of guilty wretches 
who are daunted by his plain dealing.” London is 
illuminated for two nights on the admiral’s acquit- 
tal. How his mother took it Sarah tells us in her 
inimitable way. 

“ Your anxety about Lady Albemarle is very kind 
and just, for she has indeed suffered a great deal, 
not from any fear of her son’s demerit, but from 
fear of villainy; however, she now begins to recover 
her spirits, which were terribly hurt, and now she 
will, I hope, fill up all the chinks of fear with anger, 
a much better companion for the dear old soul, who 
is more affectionate, more delightful, to all her re- 
lations than it’s possible to describe; indeed, they all 
deserve it of her except me, who have no other title 


FALSE DA_WN 


267 


to her goodness but my love for her. However, 
she makes no difference, but treats me just as she 
does the rest. I must give you an instance of it. 
My brother was so ill that I went up to town de 
mon chef with my girl, and fearing my sudden ap- 
pearance might startle him, I debarked at eleven 
o’clock at night in Lady Albemarle’s house ; she was 
out, so I established myself there, and at twelve she 
arrived, and stopped all my speeches with : ‘ Child, 
hold your tongue. What’s an old aunt fit for in 
the world but to make those she loves comfortable? 
You have obliged me beyond imagination, for 
now I know you are convinced of your welcome.’ 
She showed me every attention and kindness it 
is possible, and now I leave you (who know the 
regularity of old ladies and the great fuss they 
make with little things) to judge if she is not the 
most delightful of old ladies.” 

IV 

“ Now if I was not afraid of running into the 
spirit of scandal I would tell you all the chit-chat 
that comes round to me, but I have a constant 
monitor that tells me forever: ‘Would you like 
to have all your faults the topic of conversation ? ’ 
and the same whisper checks me. However, it is 


268 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


no scandal to tell the Duke of Dorset is about to 
marry Lady Derby, who is now in the country, keep- 
ing quiet and out of the way. There is a sort of 
party in town of who is to visit her and who is not 
which creates great squabbles, as though the curse or 
blessing of the poor woman depended on a few 
tickets more or less. I don’t know her well enough 
to guess how far this important point concerns her ; 
but I am told she has been and still is most thor- 
oughly attached to the duke, and I should suppose 
she will be very happy if the lessening of her visit- 
ing-list is her only misfortune. 

“ This subject leads me to one which I will not 
make a secret of to you who have always shared 
my thoughts. I hope you will not laugh at me for 
the wish I have long entertained of seeing Sir 
Charles again. I hope my dear Lady Susan knows 
me enough to comprehend that I never could re- 
turn the great goodness of Sir Charles to me by the 
least grain of dislike. I was indifferent; and 
another person had that extraordinary influence 
over me that, poor wretch, I could not resist him. 
He has told me that I have precisely the same in- 
fluence over him, and that if I willed to lift but 
my little finger I could draw him across the world 
to my side. Well, he has kept the width of the 


FALSE DAWN 


269 


world between him and me, not offering a repara- 
tion which would not be accepted if he had; yet he 
is still dear to me, but not as in the old days when 
I paid so high a price for his society and would 
have given my life to confer on him the slightest 
happiness. All that is over with my wild youth. 
I am thirty- four. Imagine it, Sue! I am thirty- 
four, and sober as my years demand. Yet — am 
I? Have you heard the rumor of Lord W. G.’s 
marriage with Lord Irvine’s daughter? My sister 
Louisa heard it whispered. I dare say it is but 
gossip. I am not in love with Sir Charles ; but with 
this indifference as to love I have always had an 
interest in everything that concerned him, and the 
desire has grown on me to receive his pardon. I 
wonder if I shall see him again. They tell me he 
is as handsome as ever and as much a boy. ’Tis 
surprising he keeps unmarried.” 

V 

Lady Sarah seems to have gone from her letter 
to Lady Susan straight to her diary, to which she 
confided what even that friend must not know. 

“ I have always been called frank,” she writes, 
“ yet here have I been beating about the bush with 
Sue, meaning to tell her, yet not daring, what is in 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


270 

my mind. For in the first place, with regard to 
Lord W. G., although he will ever be dear to me, yet 
it is as though he were dead long since. My pulses 
are hardly stirred when I hear his name. Oh, in- 
deed, we suffered too much ever to be happy in 
the common way. Whereas Sir Charles Bunbury, 
once my husband, remains in my thoughts as a 
spirit of youthful cheerfulness, such a one as did 
not content me in my youth which knew not how 
well off it was, but that seems vastly pleasant to me 
now. I have never told any one, not even Sue, of 
how he would have taken me back if but I would 
have gone. My family would think me mad to 
refuse, but at the time I could not do it. What! 
broken with love for another man to turn to the 
arms of my husband! I felt I had died to him 
when I left him. God knows I suffered the pangs 
of death. Dead women do not come back to take 
up the duties of wives again and to be happy, for- 
getting their agony. 

“ I will acknowledge that at first my thoughts 
were entirely concerned with Lord W. G. Oh! 
when I recall the weeping skies and the river in 
flood ; when I think upon two poor souls clinging to- 
gether against the moment when they must be torn 
quivering from each other, to live with half a life 



Sir Charles Bunbury 



























































































FALSE DAWN 


271 


and half a soul and half a heart, je suis desolee; it 
seems madness to hope that in green quietness and 
solitude such wounds should ever heal. 

“ Yet, as the years passed, the desolation of that 
time faded. II y a toujours le printemps. The 
poor body began to flourish again. With the im- 
provement of the body the mind began to put forth 
new shoots. I had always been fond of garden- 
ing. It seemed to me a recreation permissible in 
my repentance, since for my child’s sake it was best 
I should live. I w&s horrified when I first found 
I could be hungry again for my food. I began to 
be glad, half afraid. When I planted my bulbs of a 
winter day I found myself imagining how on 
a spring day they would come forth glorious in all 
their radiant colors, like a rainbow on the earth, 
to show that winter and the rain should pass away. 
I felt my heart running forward to meet the spring. 
While I made my garden I was thinking of Barton 
and how Sir Charles used to admire my gardening, 
the more, he said, as it agreed with my complexion 
and figure. When on some dark January day I 
heard the first song of the thrush, putting our dear 
robins to shame, my heart would leap with the 
strangest sensations of hope and joy such as ought 
not to have been possible to a woman who sincerely 


272 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

repented of a great fault as I thought I had; and 
though I tried to keep my heart quiet, asking with 
indignation what it thought of good could possibly 
be coming to a woman who had drunk all joy in a 
draught, yet it would not heed me, but leaped and 
sang like the cheerful tenant of a dull house. 

“ I do not know at what time I began to discover 
that those strange hopes and quickenings within me 
had reference to Sir Charles; but one day I was 
struck dumb with the discovery that it was so. I 
gathered roses from a dead summer. The thought 
rushed upon me overwhelmingly of what it would 
be if I might go back to Barton and take my place 
by the side of that good comrade who was once my 
husband, in honor and peace once more. I could 
not control the joy that shook me at the prospect, 
though I kept saying to myself, ‘ ’Tis impossible! 
You have burned your boats. Think of the desola- 
tion of the Leader in flood, and the storm that 
stripped the blossom from the trees, and realize 
that there is no turning back/ My troublesome 
tenant would keep singing and leaping all the time, 
although I turned out the lights and drew down 
the blinds/' 


FALSE DAWN 


273 


VI 

“ I said somewhat to you in my last letter, my 
dear Lady Sue, of the wish I had that I might see 
Sir Charles. I have seen something in the faces 
of my sisters of late; my brother is the most candid 
of men and lets fall a hint that if I were to re- 
marry me no one would think the worse of me for 
it. By which I think it has been whispered from 
one to another that Sir Charles seems not ill-dis- 
posed. Do not laugh at me! I have left off my 
blacks. As I do not go abroad, no one will accuse 
me of indifference to dear Lady Holland. But that 
was not the reason why I was wearing pink when 
my brother surprised me feeding Juno's puppies, 
who are just weaned. I had a coat of pink on to 
save me from the dear little wretches, who crawl 
all over me to the destruction of my clothes. I 
looked up from my task and saw my brother gazing 
at me with an air of amazement. 4 Why, Sal,' he 
said, ‘ with the sun in your hair and your eyes, 
and the pink you are wearing, you are like the girl 
you were when you married.’ Since then I have 
observed in him a new view of my case. He would 
have me come to Goodwood House, where they are 
entertaining a large party; but that I would not 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


274 

do lest I should encounter any of the over-nice/’ 
VII 

" February 6th, 1779. 

“ My dearest Lady Sue, 

“ I have heard from Sir Charles. He wishes 
to see me. I have given him leave to come. Why 
should he disturb a hard-won peace unless he came 
for something particular? He is to sup with me 
on Thursday evening. I am ashamed before the 
servants. If you were here I should ask your ad- 
vice on my clothes. My fine ones are somewhat 
old-fashioned. He liked to see me in rose-color. 
I have a rose satin from the old days, which I have 
been meaning to cut down for Louisa when she is 
older. If her complexion don’t improve ’twould 
kill her. I have also a blue damask laced with 
silver. Don’t laugh at me at my age thinking of 
such follies. My brother is right. He says the 
open air has kept my complexion. I have tried the 
rose satin on before the glass. It is vastly pretty 
and becoming. But, after all, I shall not wear it. 
Tons les roses dans mon jar din sont passees; les 
oiseaux sont partis 


CHAPTER XIX 

THE FROST 

I 

I T is half past six on Thursday evening, and 
Lady Sarah is expecting the pleasure of 
Sir Charles Bunbury’s company to supper. What 
days those have been! What an ordeal to tell the 
servants she is expecting a gentleman to sup. Such 
a thing had not happened in all her years at Good- 
wood, unless the gentleman might be a brother or 
a nephew. 

She turned hot and cold while she told her cook. 
Usually she was very easy to please in her food. 
Now she went all manner of colors while she sug- 
gested what was like a banquet to her modest estab- 
lishment. She remembered that Sir Charles used 
to have an excessively good appetite of his hunting 
evenings. She catered for him as generously now 
as she had ever done, and felt that the woman 
looked slyly at her, and that the young footman 
whom the duchess had obliged her to have when 
275 


276 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


she went to live at Halnaker, put his hand over his 
mouth as he passed out of the room to cover a 
smile. 

It was an exquisite day of February, one of those 
days with the crocuses pushing their heads above 
the earth and the birds singing that stabbed her 
with a poignant hope. The snowdrops were out 
in all the shrubberies and the garden beds, and she 
had chosen them to decorate the table, which, set 
for two, was drawn within a screen near the fire, 
for the evenings were apt to turn cold. 

She was less afraid of Bridget’s eyes than the 
eyes of the others, though she was troubled by their 
wistfulness. Bridget was her maid now; and that 
evening she dressed her lady’s hair without powder, 
in soft masses drawn away at either side of her face. 
She grumbled when Lady Sarah passed by the rose 
dress and the blue dress and selected a black velvet, 
that in which Sir Joshua Reynolds had painted her 
as the Mourning Bride. 

“ Not that, my lady,” she said, and whisked it 
from Sally’s hand. “ It would be a bad omen : it 
would be, indeed, my lady, and most unlucky, so 
it would, if you was to wear the black like that. 
I’m not saying you should wear the pink or the 
blue, my lady, though you’d be an angel in either. 


THE FROST 277 

Si 

Wear the white, my lady. There can be nothing 
amiss with white.” 

Sally allowed herself to be persuaded by the 
faithful servant, and put on her a dress of old yel- 
lowed lace which became her mightily. Sally’s 
sidewise look, so soft, so arch, so irresistible, was 
never more beautiful than in the gown of lace 
which brought out the likeness she certainly had to 
the unfortunate Queen of the Scots, Mary Stuart, 
whose blood ran in her veins. When you saw 
Sally it was as with the lovers of that unhappy 
Queen. Sally’s nose might be thick : her eyes small 
and somewhat sunken; no one ever paused to ask 
why it was that when Sally came in sight you 
forgot to ask where her beauty lay. Beyond the 
ravishing complexion, beyond the lovely hair and 
the bewitching smile, there was something about 
Sally that made her the loveliest creature of her 
time. 


II 

The blackbird had sung in the shrubbery that 
evening, almost breaking her heart with his untold 
secrets of love. The night came on brilliant and 
frosty, the evening star lying in the crescent of the 
young moon, a palpitating and throbbing jewel. 


278 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


The smell of the spring flowers was in the room. 
Louisa was gone to bed. While Sally waited she 
almost wished she had kept her up. She was 
dreadfully afraid of the interview with Sir Charles 
now that it was to be. She was afraid of what he 
might do: she Was afraid of what he might not do. 
As she stood in her drawing-room waiting for him 
by the chimneypiece, no one to see her but her 
dogs, she was pitifully agitated. Her hand, lifting 
an ornament and replacing it, shook so that she all 
but dropped the pretty thing. Her heart went 
from trembling to heaviness: she had a sick sense 
and apprehension of it. She was as vaporish as 
any miss she had ever despised. She felt that her 
hands were cold and that her head ached and 
throbbed with expectancy. The time passed, in- 
sufferably slow. She saw all the aspects of the 
familiar room strangely. So should she remem- 
ber it, she said to herself, drawn away, detached, as 
though it were a room in a stage-play into which 
she was looking. 

When the clock struck the hour of six at which 
hour she expected Sir Charles and he was not 
come, her heart sank like lead. In the clear frosti- 
ness of the evening she heard the hour struck from 
the clock-tower of Goodwood. She wondered if 


THE FROST 279 

the frost were so great as to impede travelers. He 
would come riding. He never separated himself 
willingly from the back of a horse. It had been 
wet weather of late and the pools had lain in the 
ruts of the road. She had a passing terror that 
his horse might have slipped and come down. 
Supposing while she waited in the pleasant-lit room 
he was lying out on the hard road, his horse a- 
top of him! Such things had happened, might 
happen again. She was wretched. 

While she quailed she heard the sound of the 
horse’s feet ringing on the frozen drive. They 
came nearer, nearer. Her color changed rapidly 
from red to white and white to red. Her heart 
was fluttering like a caged thing. 

The dogs sprang up, barking loudly, their 
friendly tails wagging. They ran to the door and 
sniffed. She heard the hall-door open. The draw- 
ing-room door came slightly ajar with the draught 
and the cold air entered the room. The dogs were 
welcoming a congenial traveler as though they had 
known him all their lives. She had a sensation of 
physical faintness. Her eyes turned toward the 
door like dying eyes. Sir Charles came in. 


28 o 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


III 

He advanced to her side and kissed her hand. 
He was looking remarkably well in a plum-colored 
suit which became his brown and ruddy complex- 
ion. He looked clean and wholesome: not a day 
older than when she had married him. She said 
to herself with a sharp bitter pang that he had 
not suffered because of her; and yet how he had 
pleaded with her ten years ago to return to him ! 

As he bent over her hand she was aware of the 
slight odor of the stables of which she had been 
used to complain. Now she thought it delicious. 
It belonged to the good days, to Barton, to honor 
and peace and safety, to the days when they went 
hunting together, following the fox from morning 
to dusk and riding home side by side though the 
russet Suffolk lanes. 

“ How well you look, Sally ! ” he said, admir- 
ingly. They might have parted only yesterday. 
She was glad that Bridget had prevailed with her 
to put on the lace. Nothing could have been more 
becoming. She was wearing a tight-fitting collar 
of garnets about her throat and a couple of stars 
of the same in her hair. The things had been his 
gift, held back as of little intrinsic value when his 


THE FROST 


281 


family jewfels had been restored to him. Nothing 
could have become her better. She wondered if he 
would remember that he had given them to her and 
had praised the whiteness of her neck as their back- 
ground. 

He did remember. He spoke quite easily, say- 
ing he was glad she had kept the garnets. He 
asked for Louisa and was sorry she had not been 
kept up to see him. “ You know of old I am 
deucedly fond of children, Sally,” he said. He 
talked as if they had not been parted for a day, 
standing beside her in front of the fire, unem- 
barrassed, cheerful, pleasant as of old. 

IV 

They went into supper and sat facing each other 
across the cloth as they had sat for years as hus- 
band and wife. She had planned her little meal 
with care, going back over a decade of years to 
recall the things he had cared for, the wines he had 
preferred. Not a dish was placed upon the table 
that was not a tribute to the days they had spent 
together. Her own hands had arranged the 
flowers. She had been restless about the rooms, 
settling things to greater advantage, even in ob- 
scure corners, beyond the reach of the candles, to 


282 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

which it was little likely his eyes would pene- 
trate. 

In one way she was rewarded for her thought. 
He ate heartily. There had never been a time when 
his appetite had forsaken him. He congratulated 
her on her cook and remembered that the French 
sauces were those she had brought from Paris, 
which she was used to compound with her own 
hands. His eyes glistened with enjoyment of the 
good food and wine. “ I always said, Sally,” he 
remarked gratefully, “ that there never was a 
woman like you — a beauty, a wit, a bit of a blue- 
stocking, a Diana of the chase, a good comrade, 
and yet at home in your own kitchen.” 

A pang of something like terror shot through 
her. Strange, strange, that he should have for- 
gotten the one essential matter in which she had 
failed toward him, a matter in which any woman 
who had kept her marriage vows had excelled her 
and put her out of all consideration. 

She was grateful to him that he talked so easily 
and so incessantly while the servants were in the 
room. He talked about Barton as though she had 
left it yesterday. “ Your plantation by the garden 
wall has grown out of knowledge,” he said ; “ and 
the first day I went hunting I wore a bunch from 


THE FROST 283 

your violet bed. They are the best in the whole 
county.” 

He told her of the old neighbors ; who was 
dead and who married and who had children. And 
mentioned that Rattler, a son of her old terrier, 
Sport, who had died in the second year of her life 
at Goodwood, had children as good as himself. 

“ One of the cedar trees on the lawn came down 
in the big storm last October,” he said. “ I had 
it cut into book-shelves for your room. ’Twas too 
sweet to burn.” 

“ Her room ! ” His easiness began to hurt. At 
first Sally thought, or thought she thought, that 
he acted a clever part to deceive the servants. 
Even then she wondered that he had learned to act. 
He had always had a naturalness that at times was 
an embarrassment. 

At last the servants left them and they retired to 
the drawing-room to have their coffee after the 
French fashion. After they had drunk it, sitting 
each side of the fireplace, he would have her play 
and sing to him. She remembered how she had 
mocked him in the old days because her music put 
him asleep after a hard day in the saddle. She 
would be pulled up in midmost of her singing by 
a snore, and she would look round to see his head 


284 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


lolling, mouth open, fast asleep. Only an exceed- 
ing comeliness could have borne the test of that 
sleep as his did. She would leave the piano lest 
she should break his sleep, and sit down opposite 
to him with the needlework she loved, till he awoke 
refreshed and ready for his game of basset or 
piquet. 

Now as she played and sang to him she had 
something of an expectation that he would drop 
asleep; but he did not. When she glanced round 
at him he was lying back in his chair in so com- 
fortable an attitude that it seemed he must desire 
to stay so and not turn out into the chill night. 
He was drawing the silky ears of the spaniel Chloe 
between his fingers, and she was looking at him 
as though she loved him, which was usually her 
attitude toward gentlemen. 

V 

Sally sang less well than usual. She had an 
uneasiness at her heart that prevented her doing 
her best. What would he say? What would he 
not say? Certainly he had no appearance of a 
man who has come charged with anything fateful 
to himself or another. He looked entirely at his 
ease, extremely happy and comfortable. Tears 


THE FROST 


285 


rushed to Sally’s eyes. She had been anticipating 
the meeting with an ashamed pleasure. There had 
been no reason for such a thing. The tables were 
turned. When last they met it had been he who 
wept. 

She went through her songs — the songs he had 
once loved — and they seemed to awake no 
memories. She played to him on the harp and had 
knowledge of how beautiful she looked enough to 
keep her from meeting his eyes, despite the cold 
conviction settling down on her heart that his ex- 
cessive amiability was the result of a complete in- 
difference. 

When she had returned to the fireplace he told 
her family news, the things that had been befall- 
ing his sisters and their husbands and children, 
going on easily to London gossip, of which she 
scarcely received any impression. With a few 
feet of space between them she was conscious of 
his nearness and that it made her tremble. He 
laughed and was easy, looking across the few feet 
of space at the beautiful head bent over its needle- 
work. Had he forgotten the time when he had 
said that he adored Sally when she was domestic 
and would not let her sew for kissing her? He 
seemed to have no desire, sitting there with that 


286 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


kindly look upon his face, to lessen the distance 
between them. 

She had no idea that she was going to care so 
much. She had debated within herself what should 
happen if he was too forward. She had not known 
whether she wanted him to be forward or not, 
whether any approach on his part would not send 
her flying back to the cloister of her penitence. 
Now it was he who was unready. It was she who 
had been only too ready. 

He was in the midst of the recital of a somewhat 
dull country jest — he had a rustic taste in stories 
— when the tears which had been stinging and 
burning at the back of her eyes suddenly over- 
flowed them. She broke into a most bitter sob- 
bing, and overwhelmed with shame that she could 
not keep her emotions from him, she cowered, hid- 
ing her face with her hands, the tears escaping 
through her fingers and tasting salt in her mouth. 


VI 

In an instant Sir Charles was by her side, strok- 
ing her hair with a rough kindness. 

“Why, Sal, Sal,” he said, “what is the matter? 
If I had known you would take it like this I should 


THE FROST 287 

not have come. You will have to banish me for 
the future, my girl.” 

The excuse with which she had explained to her- 
self her desire for a meeting recurred to her to 
cloak her folly. She waited till the first violence 
of her sobbing was over. Then, shaking and tak- 
ing long breaths, she looked up at him, a faint smile 
breaking through her tears. He looked so young 
and so uncomfortable and so mystified, and withal 
desperately sorry for her, in an impersonal re- 
mote way. 

“ I have never obtained, nor ever asked, your 
pardon,” she said. “ It has weighed heavy on my 
mind that I behaved so ill to one from whom I had 
received only kindness.” 

“Why, Sally,” he said, “do not grieve about 
that. It hit me infernally at one time — you know 
I’d have taken you back, if but you would have 
come. The world has many women, but only one 
Sally. All that is over and past. You have my 
complete forgiveness. The only thing I can not 
pardon is that you should make your pretty eyes 
red for me.” 

“ I made you suffer,” she said ; and was suddenly 
aware that this minute atoned for somewhat of that 
suffering, so blank was her disappointment, so 


288 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


wilted the young flowers of hope that had been 
springing up in her heart. 

“ That is all over/’ he said, with steady kindly 
eyes. “ I am contented in my comfortable middle 
age. It is a compliment to you, Sal, that I have 
never thought to put another woman in your place.” 

Oh, it was intolerable, this kindness of his! If 
he would only be angry, be cold, be anything but 
this cheerful kind person who broke her heart. 

“ You have not said you forgive me,” she said, 
with a dreary air of saying something rehearsed 
beforehand. 

“ Why, I will say it readily enough,” he returned, 
smiling as though he humored a child. “ I for- 
give you. For the matter of that I have never 
been hard to you in my thoughts. I was a damn 
stupid fellow for you to marry, and I dare say I 
seemed indifferent to the jewel I had won. I never 
was indifferent — not for a minute. You should 
have seen me when I realized that my jewel had 
been filched.” 

He turned away and walked to the end of the 


room. 


THE FROST 


289 


VII 

For the rest of the interview let Sally speak for 
herself. It left her quite without hope for the time 
being. But her pride kept her from betraying to 
her friend the blow she had received. 

“ When I saw him I was too much overcome to 
have any sensible conversation with him. I was 
indeed as stupid as an owl. His extreme delicacy 
in avoiding to give me the least hint about my 
conduct before he was obliged to it; the ingenious 
manner in which he offered me comfort, talking 
about Lady Derby’s case as I would wish him to 
talk about mine, did at last restore my spirits in 
some degree. He contrived to convince me that he 
looked upon me as his friend and one whose friend- 
ship he was pleased with and desired to keep. I 
can not describe to you how sad I felt at the time; 
but since my heart has been lighter with the assur- 
ance of his forgiveness. Indeed, it has gone back 
to its old way of lifting and lighting for the flight 
of a bird or the color of a flower, or some faith- 
fulness of a dog or the soft freshness of the west 
wind. This, I think, will convince you, even if 
you do not desire to be convinced, that the love 


290 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

which you talk of is out of the question, for love 
has ever given me a heavy heart. 

“ I was rejoiced to see Sir Charles look so well. 
He will be a boy when he is fifty. He was in very 
good spirits, and even rallied me because he found 
out that I was ashamed to see him before the serv- 
ants, holding my hands and looking in my eyes 
and saying he would see me when and as often as 
he would and the devil take the consequences. Is 
this a lover’s conduct? I tell you it is not. I 
could not argue that point with him, but I said, to 
cover my embarrassment, that I was very glad that 
he could see me with such good humor, to which 
he answered : ‘ Why should not I ? I was never 

one to bear malice.’ Then he teased me, asking 
why I should be put out of countenance because he 
came to see me and why any one should misunder- 
stand it. This conduct of his set me for the second 
time into the most violent fit of crying: at which 
he drew away, and said very sorrowfully that I 
drove him from me, and that if his presence made 
me unhappy I must not admit him again. And so 
we parted the very best friends in the world; but it 
is very true that every thought of him and his for- 
giveness of me is like a dagger in my heart.” 


CHAPTER XX 


DOMESTICITIES 

I' 

**TTTHEN a hope is lost/’ says Sally, “ put 
V V a stone above its head, but never write 
a name upon it.” 

“ I am like an old leaf in autumn,” she writes, 
two months after that meeting with Sir Charles 
Bunbury, “ that sees its friends falling about it and 
knows its own turn will come soon. I am most 
profoundly grieved for the loss of Mr. Garrick. 
Mrs. Garrick’s grief too engages my thoughts. 
After thirty years of marriage she was not only in 
love with her husband, but he was the whole and 
sole business and occupation of her life. To nurse 
him when he was sick and admire him when well 
has been her employment so long that she must 
now feel the most bereft of mortals. She has no 
children to occupy her mind, no relation she is 
attached to; she has led a life of company and 
business; the spirit of her society is lost; business 
she can not have, for her house in town and country 


291 


292 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


are so complete that she has not a chair or table 
to amuse herself with altering. She has nothing 
to do but vegetate , without any views, any enliven- 
ing hope, without any motive of exertion of mind. 
In my eyes her loss is one of the very greatest a 
human creature can feel. My own feeling for Mr. 
Garrick makes me easily comprehend that those 
who lived with him must now be very miserable; 
for I am one of those who in spite of envious 
abuse of the world looked on him in a much higher 
light than the first genius in his line of life; for I 
looked on him as a generous humane man, whose 
failings were wonderfully slight when compared 
with the temptations he had to fail. I can not help 
being sorry, too, for the rising generation that will 
never know what good acting is, and look upon it 
as a piece of good luck that I was born in his 
time. 

“ Henry Fox has been here. His looks, his 
manner are all delightful. He has the most good, 
true military air, the most noble ways ; in short, he 
is altogether delightful. His face is like my sister 
Louisa, with Charles’ look in the eyes, ce que fait 
une tres belle phisionomie, and yet he is not hand- 
some by way of beauty. He has all his two broth- 
ers’ pleasant ways of ease, good humor, fun and 


DOMESTICITIES 


2 93 


quickness of remarks, without having wit and 
brilliancy. All his accounts of the service are told 
with such modesty and propriety that ’tis charming. 
He adores the Howes; he thinks America can not 
be conquered, and laughs at the folly of supposing 
it; he says the Americans never plunder without 
leave; he doesn’t say so of the English. I think his 
ambition is to be a general as soon as proper. I 
think I have given you a very good account of a 
young officer.” 


II 

“ My brother’s militia are ordered to Exceter to- 
ward the middle of summer; so perhaps you will 
see them and give me your opinion of it; for we 
are mighty proud of it in Sussex and think it can 
be matched with any militia in England. I wish 
you had seen the duchess when she was told she was 
to go to Exceter. ‘ Well,’ said she, ‘ if I must, I 
must. Now let me see what good I can find in it? 
First of all, thank God, my good cousin, the Bishop 
of Exceter, is in Heaven, and won’t plague us with 
his dignity nor his tiresome wit; then I can see 
Mount Edgecomb, which I never should have seen 
otherwise, and I shall read a thousand books which 
I never find time to read at home.’ So saying she 


294 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


has packed up her mind to it and goes with the 
regiment, which is here innoculating, so can not go 
yet. Don’t you admire the prodigious practical 
philosophy of the duchess ? ” 

III 

“My sister Leinster and Mr. Ogilvie are just 
arrived from Paris in London and are coming here. 
I long to see her. I have seen him and think him 
a very good sort of man, most sincerely attached 
to her, which is all my business in the affair; for 
as to the rest she is old enough to know her own 
mind much better than others could direct her. She 
certainly did not marry him pour I’amour de ces 
beaux yeux , for he is very ugly and has a disagree- 
able manner, but as she says he has known her 
for so many years that he could not possibly he 
mistaken about his mind, and that is to love her 
to adoration, and that’s very captivating; and after 
all, I don’t think a husband can have a greater 
mind than to love his wife to distraction, from taste, 
from reflection, from esteem, in short, from every- 
thing that can constitute real happiness. 

“ My brother and his wife have taken my 
daughter to town for a month to learn to dance; 
the very kind manner they did it in makes the offer 


DOMESTICITIES 


295 


so pleasant that it comforts me for her absence, 
which I confess I can very ill support, but as it’s 
for her good I can not repine. 

“ Our militia march to-morrow morning. In 
about ten days they will pass your doors. I hope 
you will go down to the pale to look at them; I 
commend to your notice the captain of grenadiers 
and one of his lieutenants, both very handsome 
men, for the credit of Sussex. 

“ Dowager Lady Albemarle is here. She is ten 
years younger for the admiral’s trial, and he is 
twenty years younger, she says. Besides all the 
toasts and fine ladies, Lady Betty Compton and the 
Duchess of Rutland wear his hair in their lockets; 
so that he must grow young. 

“ Adieu. My compliments to Mr. O’Brien.” 

IV 

“What times these are! I hope all I truly care 
for may escape danger and then I shall be too 
happy; for the calamities that surround this poor 
country are dreadful. Pray write to me what you 
mean to do in case the French land. 

“ You ask me what sort of girls the Lennoxes 
are. All my advice to you about avoiding family 
quarrels has not been able to shield myself from 


296 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


suffering by them; so that I am not able to give 
you as good an account of that part of the family 
as I should wish. Lady George led a very retired 
life for some years, and I think was obstinate in 
keeping her girls children too long. My brother 
George gave in with as little reason, for I never 
could see any for it, except that it gave them too 
much trouble to change their way of life, which the 
taking the girls out must have done. However, 
within the last year and a half, a great change has 
taken place, for she dresses her daughters as much 
as anybody, sends them out as much as the country 
permits of, and lets the eldest go to London ; all of 
which my brother George and she used to exclaim 
against violently. The only thing wanting is her 
going to town herself with her daughters, which is, 
I think, a thing proper for all mothers to do; but 
she has conquered her aversion to it, I hear, and 
will go in the spring. Lord Lothian, whom I 
must always think of as Lord Newbattle, who used 
to neglect his sister very much, has taken to her 
prodigiously. He is now everything with her. 

“ I confess I dread meeting Lord Lothian again, 
seeing the changed circumstances in which we 
should meet. He has sent me through his sister 
some prodigiously civil messages; but I confess my 


DOMESTICITIES 


297 


experience of him in old days was not such as to 
make me feel that I should find in him that delicacy 
and carefulness proper to my situation. 

“ To return to the Lennox girls, since you dis- 
play anxiety regarding them I will try to depict 
them for you as faithfully as I can. The eldest, 
Louisa, is middle-sized, elegant to the greatest de- 
gree in her form, and rather plump. She has a true 
Lennox complexion, rough and showy; her hair is 
fair; her eyes, little and lively; her nose is like 
her mother’s, which is pretty, and her mouth and 
countenance as like my sister Leinster’s, full of ten 
thousand graces; her teeth good, but not super- 
latively fine. Her sense quick, strong and steady; 
her character is reserved and prudent, but so very 
complaisant that it’s hard to discover she has a 
choice, and yet she has her prejudices and is firm 
in them. She likes the world as one does a play, 
for the amusement of the moment, but her turn is 
a jolly country life, with society, where walking, 
working and a flower garden are her chief delights ; 
she doesn’t love reading, calls every one wise or 
affected who is the least learned; she is herself free 
from any tincture of affection or vanity, not seem- 
ing to know how pretty she is. She is femenine 
to the highest degree ; can laugh heartily at a broad 


2g8 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


joke, but never makes one. Louisa is, as you know, 
nineteen. The next, whose name is Emily, is sev- 
enteen; and the next, Georgiana, fifteen. Their 
characters are all three as different as it is in nature 
to be. Emily is a fine, tall, large woman with a 
Lennox complexion, but red or auburn hair; her 
features coarse, her mouth ugly, yet her teeth exces- 
sive white; her countenance very pleasing and all 
goodness like her character, which is more like my 
sister Louisa’s than anybody’s I know, but for want 
of the same cultivation it will not be so useful, per- 
haps. Her taste for her amusements is very great, 
but her adoration for her sister and the same com- 
plaisance of temper make there appear but little dif- 
ference in their manner, for what Louisa does is a 
law to Emily. Georgiana is rather little and strong 
made. Her countenance is considered very like 
mine, for she has little eyes, no eyebrows, a long 
nose, even teeth and the merriest of faces; but all 
her liveliness comes from her mother’s side. She 
has all her will, all her power of satire and all her 
good nature too, so that if she is not led to give way 
to the tempting vanity of displaying it she will be 
delightful, but you know by experience the dangers 
attending on wit, and dear little Georgiana, I fear, 
will experience them. Her manners are, of course, 


DOMESTICITIES 


299 


more lively and less prudent than her sister’s, but 
the same good humor and complaisance reigns 
among them all. I am astonished that Lady 
George is not dying with impatience to produce 
girls she has so much reason to be proud of; for 
she is excessively fond of them and they live like 
sisters with her.” 


v; 

“ My Louisa was at Lady Holdeness’ for some 
time and with the duchess, and also with Lady 
Lothian — que c’est drole, n’est-ce pas f Lord 
Lothian was particularly taken with her. The child 
does not know that he might have married her 
mother. So she has been vue et approuvee dans 
toutes les cours. 

“ You see you have had a dose of my relations 
and must now submit to have one of my house, 
which I hope to inhabit in a few months. Did I 
ever describe it to you? For if I did not you must 
tell me, for it’s absolutely necessary you should 
have a proper idea of where I am, or you can not 
converse with me in comfort if I’m all abroad and 
you don’t know where to look for me — I am now 
up to the ears in blankets, beds, curtains, grates, 
fenders, chairs, tables, etc., and I wonder I did not 


3 °° 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


inform you that the price of blankets is fallen be- 
cause of the American War, which I never ap- 
proved of till now that I get my blankets cheaper 
for it. 

“ Your answer to me about Sir Charles made me 
laugh. I used to think ’twas no laughing matter, 
but the spring always makes me light-hearted and 
light-headed. For some reason I am entetee this 
weather. Indeed I would give you leave to laugh 
if I was to marry him again, but that will never 
be, I assure you; first, because Sir Charles loves his 
liberty and doesn’t love me. He never was framed 
for the life of a married man, and he enjoys his 
bachelorhood too well to resign it without some 
temptation, which I do not afford him ; and secondly 
I hope I shall never be idiot enough to marry avec 
toutes mes annes et tons mes defants; but if I ever 
do you may certainly consider me as mad and that 
I’ve met with a man as mad as myself. Now as Sir 
Charles n’est rien moms que fou, we shall, I hope, 
be friends as long as we live. If I were well dis- 
posed to take such a step I doubt that he would be, 
so ’tis as well I don’t cry for the moon. I see he 
has been very active about bringing in a bill to 
amend the jails and the convicts on board the hulks. 
He has a heart full of mercy ; I remember him with 


DOMESTICITIES 


3 01 

a sick horse or dog; and I love him for it, though 
I shall not be his wife again.” 


VI 

“ You know, my dear Lady Susan, I have little or 
no news to tell you from a country where you 
know nobody, nor indeed where there is anything 
stirring, for Sussex is famously dull; it is a corner 
of the world and no thoroughfare. There is no 
trade but smuggling, so that it gives a general dul- 
ness to the place, and the inhabitants of the towns 
have no earthly thing to do but gossip. Ports- 
mouth lies and news furnish a little materials now 
and again and in summer the fine ladies at Bright- 
helmstone agitate the sails for a little while, but 
otherwise we fall into our dull home gossip. I say 
we because I dare say I am as bad as others, though 
I don’t mean to be so, and I can’t accuse myself 
much of entering into theirs, for I seldom see them. 
I have no carriage, which is a charming excuse for 
going seldom, and as few of them have any I see 
but few; I never had the art of managing my time, 
nor the gift of rising early, so now I’ve to teach 
myself all I wish to teach my daughter. As I love 
reading, writing, planting, walking and sometimes 


302 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

working, I never find time enough to do half what 
I like nor a quarter of what I ought.” 

VII 

“ Do you remember the gipsy’s prophecy when I 
was but five years old? Two-thirds of it have come 
true. (I wonder if she saw a river in flood when 
she looked in the ball and was silent for pity to a 
child.) As for the brave husband and gallant sons 
— there her wit failed her. Je ne mien fdche . I 
do not know what has set me to think upon the 
gipsy. 

“ Your letters are better than mine, my love. 
My last I have totally forgot, as I always do in so 
great a degree that it grows quite absurd, for no 
sooner is a letter sealed than my memory is en- 
closed with it and I often wonder when I receive 
the answers what they can mean. This want of 
memory in me has grown so bad that I look upon 
it as old age ; vu que je m’ en apergoit de mille 
manieres differentes. It is very true that thirty-five 
and past is not young. II s’ en faut beaucoup , but 
one need not be* quite old at that age as I am, both 
in looks and health, unless one has had bad health, 
which I have not; but so it is, and there being no 
remedy for this disease I will only take care, if 


DOMESTICITIES 


3°3 

possible, not to let it be attended with its usual 
companions of crossness and discontent. 

“ You ask me if I am frightened out of my senses 
about the riots? I will own to you that I was 
affected by them most sensibly. / was perfectly 
safe and out of the way, but my brother’s regiment 
happening to be on their march very near London 
at that time it seemed probable it would be sent to 
London; my brother had made himself remark- 
able for his abhorrence of the mob’s proceedings, 
and was for having them severely punished; in the 
madness of the riots I knew not but his person 
might become an object of rage and revenge to 
them ; and as governments are not famous for their 
skill in the military line, I thought he might get into 
danger through their stupidity, and not be released 
from it by their zeal for his safety , as those officers, 
who being their friends, are more precious to them. 

“ Besides this little agitation of mind which, thank 
God, was soon released by his regiment being en- 
camped at Dorking in Surrey, was added the most 
uncomfortable feeling by the perpetual talk, abuse 
and abhorrence that rang in my ears of a name I 
never can hear with indifference; and so great is 
the power of one’s feelings over one’s reason that 
although when alone and to myself I could condemn 


304 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


the conduct of that poor deluded Lord George 
Gordon and deplore the dreadful consequences, 
when others abused him it was with the utmost diffi- 
culty I could command my temper, not to defend 
an indefensible course. I never saw this unfortu- 
nate Lord George and I believe he has not behaved 
well to his brother ; but no matter for that ; he is his 
brother and therefore has a claim to my anxiety 
for his fate, which, as it must sorely afflict his 
brother, gives me very great concern. I hear he is 
wonderfully clever but wrong-headed, and I sup- 
pose is carried away by imagination beyond all 
bonds of reason. If he lives he can not be a happy 
man, for the dreadful consequences of his conduct 
will forever pursue his mind, poor soul. 

“ Pray tell me something more about your mother 
and her way of life, for I can never forget or cease 
to love her. Does she enjoy her former amuse- 
ments at Melbury? Has she made anything more 
of the pretty wood with the water in it which in 
itself was so beautiful? Does she love cards as 
well as she did? Has she neighbors who can 
come and make her party? I love her so excess- 
ively that I would spend every night of the week 
at quadrille or ombre with her, though I detest the 
sight of cards, and am a rustic dame, yawning 


DOMESTICITIES 


305 


prodigiously if I am out of my bed after ten o’clock. 

“ Well, I think I will let you off for the present 
about my house, especially as it will be more ad- 
vanced when I write again. I am as fond of it as 
a snail of his shell, and I don’t think I shall creep 
out of it to marry any man. Is not the duke an 
angel brother to build it for me? 

“ Adieu.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE ASSEMBLY 

I 

^AyfY Aunt Albermarle is here ; and, as you 
JLv A may well believe, all the talk is of Ad- 
miral Keppel’s being beaten for Windsor and the 
King’s part in it. With all due respects to His 
Majesty I say it, but in my opinion, for which he 
would not care if he has not forgotten me, he has 
hurt himself a vast deal more than he has hurt the 
admiral. A seat in this parliament and in these 
times is no such very valuable privilege as to break 
an honest man’s heart if he loses it, particularly 
when, as at Windsor, the electors came to him with 
the most affected countenance, saying, 4 Sir, we hon- 
or, we esteem, we love you, we wish you were our 
member, but our bread depends on our refusing 
you our votes; you are too good to wish us to be 
ruined by His Majesty’s anger.’ 

44 So speaks the lower class ; the other class, which 
are gentlemen , soi-disant , say, 4 Sir, we have the 
306 


THE ASSEMBLY 


307 

greatest respect for you, but the roof we live under 
must plead our excuse.' 

“ I hope you agree with me in thinking the 
tradespeople ten thousand times more respectable 
than such gentry, though one of them is no less a 
person than the Earl of Hertford’s son, Colonel 
Conway, but all the blood of all the Howards would 
not ennoble him in my eyes, I must confess, with 
such dirty shabby servility. I wish I knew him 
and could ask him a question or two. 

“ ‘ Pray, sir, why is your being in the King’s 
house a reason for voting against Admiral 
Keppel ? ’ 

“ ‘ Pray, did the King ever tell you, or order you 
to be told, that he hated Admiral Keppel ? ’ 

“ ‘ Pray, why does the King hate him ? ’ 

“ There are strange reports about the under- 
handed and indeed some open ways used to force 
the Windsor people to vote against him. The next 
day the admiral went to a camp in Windsor Park 
to pay his respects to the King, who turned away 
and would not speak to him; but the Prince of 
Wales and his brother came up to him, condoled 
with him on the shameful conduct of his enemies, 
and the Prince of Wales, said : ‘ Remember, I am 

not your enemy, but your friend, and I wish you 


3°8 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


had met with success/ I fancy the poor boys will 
get flogged for this, for it’s said the King beats 
them. 

“ You can imagine how the old soul takes all this, 
with perfect spirit and perfect good temper. She is 
too young for her eighty odd years, and will walk 
half over the county to revisit some place she knew 
as a girl. She will not sit behind horses going up 
a steep hill lest she should give a bad example to 
common folk. If you say it is too much for her, 
she bids you remember the horses. It is the most 
generous, enthusiastical young old soul alive. 

“ Mr. Burke being thrown out at Bristol is not 
much to their honor, but it is true merchant-like, 
for they are so selfish they can not bear his princi- 
ples of freedom should extend to any one but them- 
selves, and his wishing Ireland had a free trade is 
his crime/’ 


II 

“ Hove, Near Brighthelmstone. 

“9th April, 1781. 

“ If my affection for you, dear Lady Sue, was to 
be measured by the regularity of my correspond- 
ence faurais mauvais grace a y pretendre; but I 
could not very well give any tolerable reason for 


THE ASSEMBLY 


309 


never writing to you during the whole winter when 
I’ve so very often thought of you. I have passed 
this whole winter within two miles of Brighthelm- 
stone, for the benefit of sea-bathing, partly for 
Louisa’s and my health, but still more out of a desire 
to be useful to my brother and the duchess, who 
have a little protegee they are mighty fond of and 
to whom sea-bathing was necessary. As she was 
too ill to be trusted with servants I offered my 
services, and have accordingly now passed seven 
months here. I have been very well repaid for my 
trouble by the pleasure of being of use to the little 
girl, who is quite recovered; otherwise my sojourn 
has not been remarkably pleasant. To a person like 
me who has no society or acquaintance but her near 
relations, to be separated from them is the greatest 
solitude. For although the place has had a tolerable 
number of people in it continually, yet Tve never 
mixed in the society there, though by walking about 
a great deal I’ve become perfectly acquainted with a 
number of faces and names whom I know no more 
of.” 


Ill 

“ My spirits are by no means good ; but I still 
prefer the greatest solitude to company I do not 


3io 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


love; for I must more than like my company to be 
perfectly comfortable. 

“ I have once been tempted to the assembly 
rooms and am not like to go there again. I went 
in the company of Lady Fanny Beauclerk, who over- 
came all my objections by the statement that I 
should hear good music, and that I might sit in a 
corner if I would and no one disturb me. You 
shall hear. 

“ The music was very well and I enjoyed it, but 
when ’twas over I found it not so easy to detach 
Lady Fanny, and I, being her guest, having come in 
her coach, I was obliged to wait upon her pleasure. 
When at last I had prevailed upon her to start we 
had to find Miss Beauclerk, who was dancing in an 
adjoining room. She was engaged in dancing 
when we arrived: it was the country dance of 
4 Apples and Pears in a Green Garth,’ and it was 
prodigiously pretty to see how they romped through 
it. Miss Beauclerk is a girl of very graceful figure. 
You will hardly believe it that they prevailed on 
me to join in the dance. I have always been ex- 
cessively fond of dancing, which must be my excuse 
for such a folly at my age. My partner in the 
dance was little George Beauclerk, a pretty boy 
whom I used to nurse on my knee when he was a 


THE ASSEMBLY 


3ii 

child and fetch lollypops to when he slept in my 
old nursery at Holland House, when Mr. Beauclerk 
and Lady Fanny used to stay with my sister and 
Lord Holland. 

“ I was enjoying it like the youngest, with a 
greater security because I believed I was known 
to none there but my own party, when — oh, Sue, 
pity me ! — I caught sight of a red and foolish face, 
a face I had last seen — in Berwickshire — in those 
mad days. It was Sir Harvey Lovell, whom you 
will remember. He forced himself into my pres- 
ence once. I told you of it and no other soul on 
earth. I knew you would not betray me even to 
Mr. O’Brien. 

“ The odious wretch grinned foolishly when he 
saw me — I had to take his hand in the figure of the 
dance. 

“ * What, my lady,’ he shouted like a bull of 
Bashan. ‘ This is very different from our last 
meeting. I had no idea I should find my lovely 
friend in this dull provincial spot.’ 

“ Oh, Sue, pity me ! The dance had suddenly 
stopped. I did not know that there was something 
amiss with the music. I thought it stopped for 
me. The most intolerable feeling of loneliness and 
desolation came down upon me. I looked at the 


312 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


foolish insolent face — I hardly saw it for the faces 
of the dead and those dead to me that filled the 
ballroom. I hardly missed the music for the sound 
of the Leader in flood crying in my ears. I felt 
myself turning dizzy and sick. I have not been in 
my usual good health of late. Solitude of mind 
does not agree with me. As in a dream I heard his 
great coarse laugh. 

“ ‘ Your old flame/ he said, 4 was married to- 
day/ 

“ The brutality of it was like the sting of a whip 
in my face. I reeled. The music struck up again. 
Some one, a stranger, led me away out of the dance 
and into the winter garden — fetched me some 
water — was kindness itself, letting me be till I had 
recovered myself. If anything could have con- 
soled me in that wretched hour his manner would 
have afforded me consolation. I am done with 
assemblies. Yet I was innocent enough: just a 
moment of folly when I was as young as my own 
girl and I was confronted with that great oaf and 
silly devil who brought up all my past to me. 

“ I had the most violent fit of weeping before I 
was done: during which my unknown friend stood 
and watched me with the most griefful air. I did 
not even think to ask his name. When I was 


THE ASSEMBLY 


3i3 


sufficiently collected to speak I asked him to find 
Lady Fanny, which he did and brought her to me 
where I stood hooded and cloaked in the hall. She 
knew nothing of my mishap. I would not have 
her know, nor any one else but my dearest friend 
with whom I can share all my thoughts. As he 
helped me into the coach he stooped and kissed 
my hand with the utmost of respect. There was 
curiosity in Lady Fanny’s voice as she said she did 
not know I had any friends in Brighthelmstone. I 
answered that I had a dozen. Fortunately she did 
not ask me his name. She was distracted when the 
question was on her tongue by the sight of an 
old tree cowering by the roadside which she took 
to be a highwayman. The terror lasted her till we 
got home. She left me at my lodgings in Hove 
without having asked me the question to which I 
dreaded having to make an answer.” 

IV 

“ This is going to be a long letter, my dearest 
Lady Sue — I had written so far, when I was 
obliged to lay my letter aside — for after so long an 
absence of letters there is so much to relate ; and the 
oddity of it is that I did not write because I had 
nothing to say up to the time of the assembly ball, 


3 I 4 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


and since I began the letter many things have hap- 
pened. 

“ The day following the assembly, on which I 
should have been a prey to the saddest thoughts, 
when I should have been resolving that never again 
so long as I lived should I expose myself to the 
risk of meeting *such a reminder of my past as 
happened to me at my gayest, most foolish moment, 
I was instead full of thoughts of the strange gentle- 
man who had been so kind to me. In my retired 
life it was improbable I should ever see him again; 
and after the cruelty of that encounter I confess I 
dreaded that he should know my history. Better 
that the incident should sink out of sight as a stone 
dropped in a stream rather than that noble counte- 
nance should look on me with reproof and condem- 
nation. For it was a very noble countenance, my 
dear Lady Sue, and a noble carriage and figure. He 
wore his hair powdered and tied with a black rib- 
bon. His features were stately and dignified. It 
did not need his uniform to tell me he was a sol- 
dier. I should have known it the world over. 
His blue eyes had a straight keen glance as though 
they were accustomed to measure the chances of 
battle. Somewhat of the eagle in them, but not 
for me. When he gave me his arm to lead me 


THE ASSEMBLY 


3i5 


from the assembly I caught the glance with which 
he swept my enemy: it was as though he spat 
in his face. I have seen a duel fought for less, 
though no words passed. 

“ My dearest Lady Sue, I know now who he is. 
He has written. He has asked if he may wait upon 
me. He knows the admiral and Harry Fox and 
twenty other common friends. That tells me he 
knows my history. But proud and virtuous as he 
is, I am sure his eyes had nothing but respect for 
me. I am very proud, my dear love. If you could 
know how I have shrunk from the other feeling in 
men’s eyes, you would pity your poor Sally. 
Perhaps he knows — I wonder if he heard the tale 
first from some one who loves me — that I was not 
light and shameful. It was a great passion: the 
one great passion of my life; oh, Sue thank Heaven 
you have been preserved from such. It was that 
the gipsy saw in her crystal: that when he asked 
me I could deny him nothing. I think he, no more 
than I, imagined such an ending. We loved 
greatly: we fell: we have repented greatly. I do 
not grudge him what solace he may have of his 
marriage, if it is true he is married. Passion has 
burnt itself out with me. I am thirty-six years of 
age. I have repented greatly. God has forgiven 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


316 

me, and of late years the flowers have come back to 
my life, springing up in all sorts of strange places. 
I am quite an old woman: sometimes I feel only a 
poor child, who has been in disgrace and forgiven 
and can bask in the sun again.” 

V 

“ I have seen my friend : I know his name. He 
is Mr. George Napier, second son of Lord Napier. 
He has served through the American War with 
great distinction. He is six feet two inches in 
height, of a beautiful figure and a noble face. 
Whatever he has heard about me I need not fear 
him. The kindness of his blue eyes as he looks at 
me is such as any woman must delight in. 

“ Do not accuse me of follies. Can I not at my 
age, with my history, have a friend? My dear 
love, Lady Sue, we have always been truthful, some- 
times hard with each other, though the hardness 
was but a rind to the greatest sweetness within. 
Tell me if I may not solace myself with the friend- 
ship of this noble gentleman. I hear nothing but 
praises of him. He has had great trouble, having 
lost his young wife two years ago; and he has a 
little daughter to bring up. She and my Louisa 
and little Mary Bennett have taken vastly to 


THE ASSEMBLY 


3*7 


one another, although she is but a toddler by my 
two great girls of ten and twelve. My Louisa 
adores small children, and Louisa Napier is an en- 
gaging little animal. 

“ We are a great help to the poor man. Oh, Sue, 
do you not pity the estate of a man who has lost 
his wife and is burdened with the care of small 
children? The little Louisa has been left to nurses. 
Her poor mother would grieve if she could see the 
state of her clothing. A great pin does duty for 
strings and buttons, and her lace is in ribbons. She 
is neglected. I have taken her clothes, to mend 
them. Poor brat ! Her father does not know how 
she has been left to nature.” 

VI 

“ You ask me of Louisa. She is grown to be a 
most charming girl, though I say it. She is but 
twelve years old and is very childish in everything, 
so that although she fully employs my attention she 
is not yet old enough to be quite a companion. She 
looks much older than she is, being very tall: she 
is not pretty, for she has a very large mouth and 
rather thick lips. When she laughs, which is 
pretty often , she really laughs, for a smile is out of 
the question with her, and so she shows a set of 


318 rose of the garden 

white strong teeth, fitter for a man’s mouth perhaps 
than a fair lady’s. She has an ugly nose, pretty 
long and not well-shaped at the tip; she says her- 
self, for she is as candid with herself as I am with 
her, that it is long and retrousse both; and laughs 
over it with the most engaging good humor. Her 
eyes are neither large nor small, but sensible; her 
hair and forehead very so so; her complexion is 
brown and healthy. Her figure is straight and 
good, her motions are too free ever to be graceful, 
as our fine ladies esteem grace. She doesn’t know 
what the vapors are, and has an appetite not genteel ; 
she has never fainted in her life, and is mad for the 
country and animals. I have written her down as 
ugly as the devil, but she is not. There is about 
her a je ne sais quoi that every one must love her. 
She thinks of any one’s happiness rather than her 
own. She may startle you with a loud voice and 
the walk of a boy ; but she has nothing underhanded, 
and she will never learn finesse. Altogether she is 
a great, gawky, plain, lovely Dear. I would not 
have her otherwise for the world. She has the 
power of winning hearts so that people say, ‘ I 
thought her ugly at first sight, but discover her to 
be pretty.’ She will make all the world her friend. 
She has a goodness of heart, a desire to please. 


THE ASSEMBLY 


3*9 


an unaffected straightforwardness which is rather 
boyish than a girl’s qualities, and exceeds anything 
I ever saw in anybody. Next week she goes to 
London, to Richmond House, where they have most 
kindly shown her every attention and goodness. 

“ Sir Charles and all his family have taken her 
en amitie that they have her with them very con- 
stantly: I fear that with the variety of friends 
who desire to take her out I shall not have much of 
her. But she doesn’t think any one like her mother, 
and would give up the finest engagement ever was 
for a country walk or an evening beside the fire 
with me. I don’t think it a good thing in general 
to be sought after, but in her peculiar situation one 
must bend to circumstances, and since at twelve 
years old they carry her about as if she was twenty, 
it is to be hoped that at twenty no one will take it in 
their heads to doubt about being civil to her, for they 
will have had full time to consider of it. There- 
fore I rejoice at the manner in which she is re- 
ceived ; and can not say how I love Sir Charles and 
his family for not letting my fault influence their 
conduct toward my innocent great baby. Mrs. 
Gower has asked to have her for a fortnight after 
the duchess is done with her. Nothing can be more 
pleasing to me than all this, and when I can at- 


3 2 ° 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


tribute it to her own dear little engaging ways it 
gives me so much pleasure that my heart is full of 
gratitude to the kind Prompter of all kindness. 

“ I must tell you of the dear Duchess of Bedford. 
She has brought little Caroline Fox to my Aunt 
Albemarle and desired her to tell the Duchess of 
Richmond that she would be very glad whenever 
her grace would send for Miss Fox, as nothing 
would please her more than to have my brother’s 
family take notice of her, adding that she begged 
she might see a great deal of Miss Bunbury. So 
you see my heart is doved by her old grace and her 
gracious ways. In consequence of this Lady Al- 
bemarle carried Louisa to Bedford House, and the 
girls have dined together and were to go to the 
play with our duchess, which is all delightful.” 

VII 

“This letter has taken an unconscionable time 
in the writing. I wrote it from time to time when 
people would allow me. Louisa has left me for 
the duchess. I hope you are perfectly assured now 
that she is my first thought: this being sought 
after while it gratifies me, leaves me without her 
companionship. You, who have always compan- 
ionship, must pity me. Adieu.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


INDIAN SUMMER 

I 

RETURNED from Hove in April, and 
X now it is June at the time of my writing to 
you, although you were very prompt in an answer 
to me. Je crois que le diable se mele de nos 
affaires. Here are you scolding me exactly as I 
scolded you when you followed the dictates of 
your own heart rather than your head. I have 
been putting a suppositional case to you. What 
will you say when I tell you it is my own ? 

“You remember the officer at Brighthelmstone, 
at the wretched ball, who so obligingly, so chival- 
rously came to my rescue at a moment when I was 
feeling as though I had been shot through the 
heart ? I ran away from Hove to avoid him, 
parcequ’il me donne une serrement du coeur, and 
we did not meet again until the other day when, as 
I was stepping out of my chair at my Aunt Albe- 
marle’s door, he was going in. He came forward 
to assist me with the greatest of politeness in the 
321 


322 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


world. At the sight of me joy flashed from his 
eyes. His face is naturally serious, yet it has a 
je ne sais quoi that tells of humor not far off — 
for he is an Irishman. We went in together to 
pay our respects to the old soul. While we were 
there in the little drawing-room her ladyship was 
called away to her youngest grandchild, who had 
just produced a tooth and was only to be com- 
forted asleep by his granny. She has the most 
wonderful way with old and young. 

“We were in the little drawing-room, the cur- 
tains closed between us and the room where people 
came and went and were entertained by Elizabeth 
Keppel till her old ladyship should return. I sug- 
gested joining the crowd and stood up to do so. 
In a manner of the utmost respect, yet with the 
greatest importunity, he begged me to be seated 
for a while. There was that he had to tell me, 
after hearing which, if I pleased, he should speak 
no more. With a prodigious tremor, for which 
I could not account, I set myself to listen.” 

II 

“ I believe I have told you, my dearest Lady Sue, 
that he is excessively handsome. The light in the 
little drawing-room was dim: and his profile 


INDIAN SUMMER 


323 


showed against the window. I was arrested by the 
fineness of it. It had a look fierce and valiant: 
the head, held a little thrown backward, had some- 
thing of the eagle in its glance, as though the eyes 
looked at sunsets and were not afraid. A romantic 
face. My thoughts went back to Sir Philip Sidney 
and others of the heroical days. His eyes were of 
the most shining blue. They would look unafraid 
down the throat of a cannon; yet they can soften 
wonderfully for a woman. 

“ I will tell you somewhat of what he said — 
not all. There were some things that must be be- 
tween him and me and God. He began in a man- 
ner of great circumspection; and I divined that he 
would not have his leaping heart to run away with 
his tongue. He said quietly that ever since I had 
left Hove so abruptly he had desired to meet me 
again and to learn how I was affected toward him. 

“ ‘ I have lost not long since/ he said in tones of 
the deepest feeling, ‘ a most dear companion. She 
died of a fever at New York, and with her our 
youngest pledge of love. When the grave closed 
upon her I felt that I was done with love of women 
and that my country must henceforth be my mis- 
tress. She was the most amiable of creatures. 
Fate or Providence having dealt me so cruel a blow 


3 2 4 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


at what was but the outset of our lives together, I 
did not imagine that I should again expose myself 
to the danger of such a trial as is involved in the 
losing of a dear helpmate ; until, one night at 
Brighthelmstone, the beauty of a lady in distress so 
overwhelmed me with compassion that I was car- 
ried out of myself. And presently I began to 
perceive, having seen more of the lady, that my 
heart was not dust and ashes, a charnel-house of 
dead memories as I had supposed, but yet warm 
and living, capable of rejoicing greatly as well as 
suffering: in short, putting forth fresh leafage of 
greenness from a trunk blasted by the lightning 
and supposed dead, but yet not so, and now mirac- 
ulously come to life/ 

“When he had said so much he leaned forward 
and took my hand. 

“ ‘ Strange,’ he said, ‘ that I should find that lady 
who had wrought such miracles in me in the person 
of the cousin of the gallant Keppel, whose deeds 
I adore while I am proud to call him my friend. I 
assure you, madame,’ he said, ‘ that ever since our 
meeting, my thoughts, my hopes, my aspirations 
have been centered in this one end, that I should 
meet you again, and, if you were free to listen, 
should pour forth to you once the passion with 


INDIAN SUMMER 


325 

which your face inspired me, so that, as the old 
poet said well — 

Since first I saw your face I resolved 
To honor and renown you. 

I have said my say,’ he concluded, * and now you 
are free, if you will, to bid me remain silent for- 
evermore.’ ” 


III 

“ My dearest Lady Sue, you can imagine the ex- 
treme state of agitation into which I was thrown 
by this honest and manly avowal. I had resigned 
myself long ago to being done with life. You 
know my situation. I am a woman who, having 
burned her boats for love, have considered myself 
as cut off from that happy security wherein fortu- 
nate women dwell with their husbands and children. 
I esteemed myself lucky in having so much to 
solace my loneliness. I had the child whom I had 
so cruelly wronged, to whom I might make up yet 
in some measure for the injury I had inflicted upon 
her. I had my dear family and some steadfast 
friends — you, my dearest Sue, ever first among 
them : I had a home I loved, given to me by the 
dearest of brothers. Over and above all I had the 


326 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


consolations of religion which, perhaps, would not 
have burned so brightly for me if my situation were 
more fortunate. Yet, — to be done with life at 
twenty-four! Oh, Sue, the fault I committed was 
over and done with at twenty- four, and to be done 
with life as well was surely hard. I thought I was 
willing, but I was not. 

“A prisoner within me, the spirit of youth at 
times yet capered and sang. Do what I would joy 
waited to surprise me. I found after the first 
years of my penitence that the green shoots were 
coming out and up in all manner of unexpected 
places. I was frightened the first time I heard 
myself laugh, playing with the child. She had 
pulled my hair about my ears. I saw it in the 
glass and my flushed and smiling countenance, and 
I felt with a shock that my hair should have been 
off — my poor, pretty, fly-away hair — and my 
head covered with a cap such as the Colletines , pen- 
itents wear at the Asile in the Rue Champery. I 
remembered how the cap round the sullen girlish 
faces seemed to me an intolerable cruelty and af- 
front. 

“ I knew now what had been the matter with me 
those last months when my foot could scarcely keep 
from dancing for all the years of my age. Oh, 


INDIAN SUMMER 327 

Sue, if you could know what I have had to bear! 
I am very proud; and I was the object of scorn. 
Cold devils of prudes who had never known what 
it was to love greatly, to be greatly loved, as I, 
looked at me askance as they passed by on the other 
side. I had a spirit quick and eager: if I were a 
man I should have been another Fox: as my 
nephew Charles says, I have the flair for high poli- 
tics more than any woman he has ever known. I 
have always been greedy for the great things of 
the world; still I was humble to country ladies and 
a nurse to Louisa and dug my garden less well 
than a gardener’s boy. Oh, there were times when 
I was balked and miserable. 

“ And here — I could not believe my ears — was 
a man of the highest probity, the most unflecked 
conduct, the most rigid standard of honor — and 
he was offering me the happy security of his name 
and honorable protection. Oh, no fop would 
dare, as fops have dared, to convey by a smirk and 
a twirl of the cane that my situation was not the 
same as an honorable woman’s. It was too much.” 

IV 

“ 4 My sword to defend you, my body to adore 
you, my heart to lean upon, my honor and esteem 


3 28 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


to crown you.’ He had broken into impassioned 
words. He is the finest gentleman living. 

“ In the great pier glass which I faced I saw the 
curtain which shut off the little drawing-room 
lifted by a hand. I could have screamed. If we 
were to be interrupted! This had to be finished 
one way or another within the walls of that room 
which I have never thought beautiful apart from 
Lady Albemarle’s presence. The curtain dropped 
again. I knew the old hand, with the signet-ring 
too large for it held in place by a keeper. The old 
love is as much in sympathy with lovers as though 
she was a girl. She must have known. 

“ Suddenly an overwhelming despair came upon 
me with a certainty that he could not know my 
history. He was speaking to an unknown lady 
— Madonna Innominata, in all that counts. When 
he knew how poor Sarah Lennox had lost all for 
love he would be amazed, grieved, horrified. The 
thought of his face was too much for me. The ex- 
pression I imagined in his eyes withered me. As 
I covered my face with my hands I felt his scorn 
like a destroying flame.” 


INDIAN SUMMER 


3 2 9 


V 

“ I sobbed out my story in his arms and felt 
them close about me. As for the things he said 
— those were the things I shall not write even to 
you. * All the world knows you might have been 
queen of England/ says he, ‘ and you are come 
down to be queen of a poor soldier’s life and 
heart.’ Do you remember the gipsy’s prophecy 
that I should yet be a queen? I dare not think 
upon what else she said.” 


VI 

“ Did I tell you? He is a son of the late Lord 
Napier and uncle of the present Lord N. He is a 
younger son, so of course has nothing. To mend 
his fortunes he married in Minorca an officer’s 
daughter as rich as himself. He made her very 
rich, poor soul, in all the happiness that a wedded 
life can afford; but after barely four years of mar- 
ried life she left him, with one babe, the pledge of 
her affection. I think now I told you all this be- 
fore. I shall never be jealous of her, poor pretty 
wretch, nor send my thoughts enviously to that 
union of first love: all that shall be swallowed up 


330 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


in my pity for the woman who possessed so dear 
a soul and must leave him to me. 

“ You would hardly believe, my dear Lady Susan, 
that a man who has had reason to know the dis- 
tresses of poverty and the inconveniences of a poor 
marriage should be so eager to put himself into 
the same situation again — and for a woman who 
is no angel, as you well know. You will think ill 
of his sense for the choice he has made of me, for 
most things considered, there is in all marriages 
one thousand to one they will turn out ill, and in 
mine ten thousand to one ; but no one argument that 
has been urged to Mr. Napier has had the least ef- 
fect upon his determined purpose. He is no more 
sensible than any other man in love, and ends up all 
with if I love him he is the happiest man alive. I 
do love him to his entire satisfaction, and being cer- 
tain of that he laughs at every objection that can 
be brought, for he says that, loving me to that 
degree he does, he is quite sure never to repent 
marrying me, and that he will take his felicity 
where he finds it: in short, nothing can be more 
firm, or, if you are pleased to call it so, more ob- 
stinate, than he in thinking me the most desirable 
thing on earth, and the only one to make him 
happy en depit de tout” 


INDIAN SUMMER 


33i 


VII 

“ As for me, my dear Lady Susan, my situation is 
easily understood. I thought myself arrived at as 
much happiness as ever I should enjoy sheltered as 
I was at dear Halnaker under the egis of my dear- 
est brother’s affection: but the tenderness I feel 
for Mr. Napier, my gratitude for the excess of his 
partiality toward me, the pleasure of being so 
sincerely and deeply loved, and the hope, after 
twelve years of a loneliness which only my own 
heart knows, of the full and comfortable compan- 
ionship which is afforded by a happy marriage 
tempts me to risk the comfort and security of life 
at Halnaker for an uncertain future. In short, 
my dear Lady Susan — and you have only to look 
at your O’Brien to understand how I feel — there 
is the man , and the man outweighs all that might 
be piled on the other side of the scale. 

“ Dearest Sue, it has not all been cakes and ale. 
Despite the security and peace of Halnaker, I have 
to set against it that I have very few friends, and 
they, by their avocations, are drawn out into the 
world and away from me, whereas I, by my situa- 
tion, am kept within the green enclosing hedges of 
my home. It has come to this, that I rarely see 


332 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


my relatives, except my brother and the duchess: 
and as for friends, their visits have grown rarer and 
rarer. So poor Sally sits alone and a-cold. I am 
not by nature one to do without the alleviations of 
friendship. The only things that might counter- 
balance the happiness I look for in a marriage with 
Mr. Napier were, first, the good of my dear child, 
and second, the loss of my brother’s friendship. 
You will easily believe, my dear Lady Sue, that my 
heart has been torn in pieces by the doubts and 
apprehensions caused me on these two points. I 
could tell you ten thousand reasons for and against : 
but when all is said and done the issue was never in 
doubt. There is always the man: and the man is 
worthy of all I can suffer for him. 

“ But although I am persuaded, it requires much 
pains to persuade my friends of it, and I have not 
yet succeeded as I would like. My two sisters 
approve, Lady Albemarle, esteeming Mr. Napier 
as he deserves, gives me a blessing: my brother 
doesn’t like it and can’t be persuaded to see its ad- 
vantages. He says : ‘ Why change when you are 

well? You risk all and may lose all.’ 

“ He vows all the time that ’tis only his affection 
for me sets him against it, yet tells me plainly that 
I must have no hope of his protection in the matter, 


/ 


INDIAN SUMMER 


333 


since he could not encourage what he hoped might 
not happen; that I must seek the countenance of 
those who saw differently from what he did: but 
that he would be neither for nor against me. 

“ I wait on my sister Louisa who is coming from 
Ireland shortly. Mr. Napier says I have but one 
fault, that of delay , but he finds it so excessive that, 
he can scarce forgive me it. He has given me the 
greatest possible proof of his affection for me. He 
is going to sell out . I know how great a sacrifice 
this is, and I bring him no fortune but myself. He 
says it is enough for any man. It is a thing he 
doesn’t understand and scolds me for, that after 
those years of solitude I am afraid to' walk alone 
even to my marriage. It is like some one who 
rises from a bed of sickness and dare not face the 
unsteady earth without a comforting hand. My 
sister Louisa will steady me. He says I have him 
and I believe is jealous of Louisa; I am well as- 
sured that I have him, but I need the countenance 
of my own family. 

“ My brother George says that the Lennox 
women are the devil for romantic folly. My sis- 
ter Leinster with her ‘ beggarly Scotch tutor ’ 
(according to the duke) is my justification. She 
had not my excuse, for Mr. Napier is charming. 


334 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ In the month of July at furthest I look to be 
settled ches moi , not in my own dear beautiful 
house amid the Goodwood roses which have done 
famously at Halnaker, but in some little house near 
London if not in a London lodging. I care not 
how vile it is, but shall hug the sacrifice for love’s 
sake. A retired life suits me very well in all re- 
spects, and I shall continue it in the midst of 
London, being well content with the perfect friend- 
ship I shall find at home. I gave up the world on 
sound and fair reasoning, and nothing shall induce 
me to seek it again to the detriment of Louisa’s 
character. I am not a fit person to introduce her 
into the world, and I never will attempt it. I will 
not do as I have often seen mothers do, make her 
innocence and pleasing ways a support for me by 
not letting her go without me into the world: at 
the same time I will not let her be like Fanny 
Wriothesley was, at everybody's service: she will 
not go into the world but under the protection of 
those near relatives whose protection is so very ad- 
vantageous to her. 

“You and I shall never go again all bonneted 
up and hooded up in public, and giggle and laugh 
at the ridiculousness of the world, but I will not 
promise that we don’t laugh at home and do it in 


INDIAN SUMMER 


335 


more comfort; as by that means we shall not run 
the risk of being abused for it, but enjoy our fun 
in a quiet way.” 

VIII 

“We have both played — or at least I play and 
you have played — a deep game for happiness. 
You have won. I pray there may not be ruin for 
me on the cards. But it could only come with the 
loss of Mr. Napier. He is my King of Hearts, 
and the Ace is in my hands. I talk as though I 
were in society. But behind the talk my heart 
keeps saying to itself: God give poor Sally an- 
other chance . 

“ Have you heard of Lord William Gordon’s 
marriage? It does not grieve me. I am glad that 
he should be happy at last. The woman who gave 
up everything for a great passion is dead and for- 
given. God gives poor Sally another chance. 
Adieu, my dearest Lady Sue.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 

THE CANDID FRIEND 


I 

L ADY SUSAN writes — 

“My dear Lady Sarah — You think that 
when you set an imaginary case before me, asking 
for my advice upon it, that I must have guessed 
it was your own. You are wrong there. I should 
have made twenty guesses before lighting on that. 

“ Let me, as one who gave all for love, and has 
saved some happiness out of an ocean of worry 
and vexation, implore you to consider what you do. 
I could hardly believe myself awake when I read 
your letter and perceived what it meant. I per- 
ceive already by it that you are excessively in love ; 
and of course everything will appear to you in a 
delusive point of view: that is what I wish you to 
be careful of. But that you will not be, as it is 
the very nature of passion to deceive; and I think 
the greatest excuse for a young fool more than an 
old one is that sentiments they feel for the first 
336 


THE CANDID FRIEND 


337 

time they naturally think can never alter, an illusion 
any second passion must destroy. 

“ I have no doubt the duke will remain kind and 
friendly to you as is his nature, but by what you 
say it is clear he is extremely against your marry- 
ing; and may not this have the effect of lessening 
his regard for you, which alone will make you very 
unhappy ? 

“ As to Miss Bunbury, I sincerely hope she will 
not feel the change of your situation, but I think 
you must be sadly in love not to see the danger of 
it; she will certainly have only a share of your affec- 
tion and attention, of which she now Has the whole, 
and what is divided must be lessened. 

“ Your living at Goodwood has probably been a 
reason of the fondness the duke and duchess have 
for her ; her being at a distance from them may di- 
minish it, for we are all animaux d’habitude , and I 
conceive a great difference between being a very 
good uncle and showing her what is called kindness 
and protection and having the sort of love and 
fancy I imagine him now to have for her. As 
for your giving her a better education with Captain 
N.’s help, it is all stuff and nonsense. You deceive 
yourself, my dear Lady Sarah, you deceive yourself. 
You are certainly very capable of giving her your- 


338 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

self as good a one as you could wish her to have: 
and I think he will agree if he is reasonable, as no 
man in love ever was, that you are much more 
capable of it alone than with him to share your at- 
tention. I am sorry if you will marry — for I see 
you pitch this letter to the devil — that it is a man 
of small income : it is an additional and never-ceas- 
ing little plague that goes on tormenting one inces- 
santly : and neither time nor habit that lessens every 
other ill has the least effect on that. 

“ There is a perpetual little uneasiness caused by 
the want of money : a little something which arises 
every day and every day demands a fresh remedy, 
like the continual pricking of a pin which, though no 
very violent agony, is yet enough to make uncom- 
fortable the whole life. You may trust me on this 
subject : my experience is too good, and though Cap- 
tain N. may be used to live on a small income and 
economize he will not like it a bit better, for in 
this case 1 ’ habitude n’y fait rien. 

“ As to the approbation of your two sisters, I am 
satisfied it is only because they see you are deter- 
mined. Her Grace of Leinster may well feel that 
one folly in the family is enough, and may reproach 
herself that she set you the example of following 
rather inclination than duty. If t-hey thought you 


THE CANDID FRIEND 


339 


would be easy without the marriage I am persuaded 
they would strongly advise you against it. As to 
Lady Albemarle’s opinion, I don’t think it of much 
consequence: I hear she weeps over Clarissa Mar- 
lowe and reads fairy stories when her Bible would 
more become her age. If her advice did not jump 
with your inclinations I do not think you would at- 
tach more importance to it than I do. 

“ I wonder to find how much I have gone on 
writing, for when I began my only intention was 
to wish you happiness and not say a word of my 
misgivings. But I can not help feeling hurt at your 
marrying again: there was a propriety in your re- 
treat, and a dignity annexed to the idea of one 
great passion , though unfortunately placed, that 
gratified your friends and silenced your enemies. I 
have so often heard you praised and admired for 
not marrying again and giving up your time to your 
daughter that I grieve you should change a plan, 
the only one in the world perhaps that could thor- 
oughly reinstate you in the good opinion and es- 
teem of everybody. 

“Mr. O’B. is in London and I am at Melbury 
with my mother, surrounded by oaks, but not at 
all conscious of the oak-like disposition with which 
you used to credit me. I am become a willow and 


340 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


very often a weeping one, for my spirits are but 
low and I can’t form any scheme which affords me 
any pleasure. 

“What does the duchess say? Does she not 
laugh at you for your folly ? ” 

II 

Sally read this letter between laughter and tears. 
It hurt cruelly, yet there was object for some bitter 
humor in the spectacle of the woman who had 
given all for love become a weeping willow, and 
yet with a most oak-like capacity for striking hard 
and resisting the tender appeal of her friend’s sit- 
uation. 

“ I wish she had kept to her original intention,” 
said Sally, reading the letter in her pleasant morn- 
ing-room at Halnaker, overlooking the park where 
the duke’s deer were feeding. 

There were phrases that stung like the slash of 
a whip. “ An old fool.” Sally turned to the glass 
to consider the face of the woman so designated. 
It was a fair and glowing face, supported on a 
slender pillar of a neck. What maturity had come 
to her had given her a more winning charm. The 
channels of the long and bitter tears of her peni- 
tence had but given her beauty an alluring sadness 


THE CANDID FRIEND 


34i 


of experience. Her lips and her cheeks were red: 
her eyes, but for the tears, had been bright. She 
had the figure of a married sylph. Grace went 
with her as she walked, stayed by her when she 
stood or sat. Innumerable little loves laughed 
from the dimples of her cheeks. Her lips, drawn 
downward with the hurt of her friend’s letter, 
had a more bewitching line than when she smiled. 

“ It has not been all cakes and ale for the gallant 
O’Brien,” said she to her image in the glass: and 
the image in the glass laughed back at her through 
shining tears. 


Ill 

Sally might take her own way as her friend pre- 
dicted, but it was possible to plant thorns in the 
way where otherwise should have sprung roses. 
She could smile over parts of Lady Susan’s letter, 
remembering how' most of its arguments might 
have applied to the writer’s own case. The thing 
that went deep was the argument about her daugh- 
ter. Louisa Bunbury’s situation appealed to no 
one as it did to her mother, whose love for her 
daughter had the poignancy of a passionate duty, 
a passionate reparation. She owed Louisa all she 
could do for her; all she could sacrifice for her. 


342 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


Was it possible that her marriage would be a wrong 
to Louisa ? that all the arguments by which she had 
persuaded herself that it would be a benefit to her 
girl were but specious and selfish? Was she 
throwing golden dust in her own eyes? 

Would the time come when the child upon whom 
she had lavished everything of a mother’s devotion 
should feel herself pushed out, her place taken ? A 
wave of color flooded Sally’s cheek as she recalled 
the gipsy’s prophecy. Heroic sons! She was to 
be the mother of heroes, according to the gipsy 
queen. The sons of such a one as Mr. Napier 
might be heroes. But for the moment the thought 
of the unborn children who might push Louisa 
from her mother’s heart had no trembling joy in 
it. She did not desire to be the mother of heroes. 
She only cried out in a passionate protest against 
possible wrong to the child to whom she owed all 
reparation. 


IV 

For the first time it came to her mind that Lady 
Susan, that the duke and duchess, all the people 
who opposed her marriage, might have right on 
their side. She would be taking Louisa from 
Goodwood and the tender friendship of the Duke 


THE CANDID FRIEND 


343 


and Duchess of Richmond to the poverty in which 
she must live if she made this marriage of love. 
She had seen how poverty had wrought on the 
bright spirit of her friend. Would it, in time to 
come, affect her somewhat similarly, stealing like a 
creeping blight over her generous spirit and high- 
heartedness? Would it crush the noble mind and 
energies of Mr. Napier? She saw herself as she 
saw Lady Susan, plainly for the first time, discon- 
tented, querulous, blaming all the world rather 
than herself, making even the radiant image of 
Love drab and dreary, trailing his wings in a robe 
of sackcloth and ashes. 

She lifted her heart proudly. Lady Susan had 
blasphemed against love. She would never do 
that. If she married Mr. Napier — if she mar- 
ried him: there was but one thing that could turn 
her back from the felicity that had opened before 
her — they would carry poverty with a high spirit. 
It would be the poverty of the Poverello : the Lady 
Poverty, and no drab slut pinching and paring. 
She would never come to be a weeping willow like 
poor Lady Susan : she would not even be ivy to 
strangle the life out of her splendid oak. To her 
last day, whatever befell, she would praise love and 
not blaspheme against him. 


344 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


V 

She fell from her heights to a valley of desola- 
tion full of the cold rain. She did most earnestly 
desire not to be blinded by passion, as Lady Susan 
had said she was, to her daughter’s interests. Al- 
ways she had been on her honor not to think of 
herself so long as she might do something to atone 
for the unfortunate situation into which she had 
brought her girl. She had made it a reason for 
accepting Mr. Napier that he would give her the 
shelter of an honored name, and that her own 
more assured position must be advantageous for 
her daughter. Had that been a specious dust cast 
in her eyes by passion and self-love? Arraigning 
herself before the tribunal of her own conscience 
she was ready to believe that it was so. 

Louisa had grown up sweet and sensible. She' 
was now in her thirteenth year, a wholesome coun- 
try girl of great honesty and simplicity of charac- 
ter. She worshiped her mother, and she had 
shown some little jealousy of Mr. Napier. 

At the moment when Sally sat with her head in 
her hands, bowed down in an agony of self-accusa- 
tion, Louisa came romping into the room with a 
pack of dogs at her heels, bringing the west wind 


THE CANDID FRIEND 


345 


with her. It was a day of May, the lilacs were in 
full bloom under the windows of Sally’s morning- 
room, and the May-trees in the park were like so 
many great bunches of bridal flowers. The birds 
were singing most sweetly in all the freshly-green 
branches; there was a whisper of wind in the 
leaves that was like the flowing of many waters. It 
was a day for joy. 

The child came bounding to her mother’s side, 
as affectionate and as clumsy as her spaniel, and 
cast herself upon her mother’s neck. 

“ Why are you weeping, you precious mama ? ” 
she said. “ What is it that troubles you ? Is it 
anything your child can help in? Have I given 
you trouble by my wild ways ? ” 

Sally clasped the young warm creature to her 
breast, and controlling her agitation as well as she 
might, she began to talk to her tenderly, as she 
had learned the habit of talking in the years of soli- 
tude during which they were together. Although 
Louisa was not a clever creature, yet the excellence 
of her heart and understanding more than atoned 
for any lack of quickness in her mind. 

“ It is well you may be alarmed, my Louisa, at 
seeing your mother in tears,” said Sally, “ for I 
have kept my tears from you all your days. It is 


346 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


not right that the young should be saddened by 
the griefs of their elders. ,, 

“ You would never have a grief if I could bear 
them for you,” said Louisa, “ and perhaps I under- 
stood better than you thought. I often knew when 
you wept and wept with you, being careful that 
you should not know. Do you remember how, 
when you were ill with a fever, I crept into your 
room and was found breathing the air about you 
so that I might catch your fever?” 

“ I remember it too well, you beloved creature,’' 
Sally replied fondly. 

“ So I would rather have your griefs to bear in 
my own person than another’s joys. You must 
weep no more except when your daughter is by to 
stanch your tears. Dearest mama, I entreat that 
you will share your troubles with me. If you 
do not do so openly I shall share them in secret, 
which will be the worst for me. Dearest mama, 
you will be surprised, but your Louisa knows the 
cause of your grief.” 

This last saying cast Sally into the most frightful 
alarm and mortification. Was it possible the inno- 
cent child could know of her mother’s transgres- 
sion? What hint, what whisper of it could have 
reached her young ears? At the moment she had 


THE CANDID FRIEND 


347 

a feeling that she would welcome everything, any- 
thing, that would keep her ignorant forever. 

“ You must not look so violently alarmed,” said 
Louisa, patting her mother's cheek. “ There is 
nothing to cause alarm. I have long known that 
you grieved for the death of the father whom I lost 
in youth. You can not deceive your child. She 
loves you too well not to know every feeling of 
your heart.” 


VI 

Sally was silent for several seconds' after her 
child had spoken so innocently. So that was what 
she believed! No one had been cruel enough to 
enlighten her. She sent up a fervent prayer to 
Heaven from the depths of her heart that Louisa 
might be kept in ignorance, little knowing how the 
prayer would be answered in years to come. 

Louisa was patting and smoothing her mother’s 
forehead now with two comfortable kind hands. 

“ I shall make the lines disappear,” she said, 
“ that have written themselves on your pretty dear 
face during the years of your sorrow.” 

“ You darling Louisa,” cried Sally, feeling en- 
dowed with fortitude to relinquish any prospect, 
however sweet, for the sake of so dear a child, 


34$ 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


“ my little wise woman, how will it be if you and 
I go on together at Halnaker just the same? 
Surely we suffice for each other.” 

She did not see for her tears the sudden joyous 
bewilderment of the child’s face, nor how her eyes 
wandered about the pleasant room, with a look in 
them as though some precious thing which she 
had foregone were being given back to her. Well 
it was for Sally that she did not see! It was a 
blessed blindness. 

“ But it would make my dearest mama happy 
to marry Mr. Napier?” 

For a moment a heroic lie hovered on Sally’s 
lips but did not pass them. She could not say 
she did not care. Her voice trembled as she an- 
swered. 

“You and I, Louisa, can be happy together. 
Mr. Napier has a Louisa of his own to solace his 
loneliness as I have.” 

“ And we would be here together at Halnaker ? ” 
Louisa said in a whisper. " Nothing would be 
changed. We need not go to London and away 
from the duke and duchess. How beautiful it is! 
London I can not endure.” 

“ You are a true country bird,” said Sally, feel- 
ing the last shred of hope disappear. “ But you 


THE CANDID FRIEND 


349 

are right, Louisa. In this dear place we can be 
happy together.” 

“ And you will not go back to weeping and being 
sad? You will not wear black always as though 
you were a nun? You will laugh as I have heard 
you since Mr. Napier came, but never before? 
You don’t know how differently you look since Mr. 
Napier came.” 

“ I will try to be all you want me to be,” returned 
Sally in a voice she could make nothing else but 
doleful. She lifted Louisa’s hand and kissed it, 
saying to her own heart that Louisa had shut the 
door between her and happiness and had a right 
to do it. She saw her life settling down into the 
drab and dreary routine of old. Oh, she was tired 
of the sackcloth and ashes which she had worn so 
long! and yet she must resume them; she must 
give up the love and the honorable shelter — and 
the hero sons, who should be her delight and her 
pride, whom she could love without the poignant 
sense of a guilt which made her love for her girl 
suffering rather than joy. 

Louisa, with a sudden playfulness, as it seemed, 
closed both her mother’s eyes and kissed the lids. 
She stood up from her place on her mother’s knee 
— she was a great girl to be nursed — and drew 


350 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


Sally’s head to her breast as though she were the 
mother and not the child. 

“ Indeed,” she said, “ I ask your pardon, my 
dearest mama. Your child was but playing with 
you. If we lived on here as we have been doing 
I might leave you one day, and then think how 
solitary you would be! It has often been very 
lonely at Halnaker, especially when the duke and 
duchess were in London. If I am to have a papa 
I would rather have Mr. Napier than any other 
gentleman.” 

“You are certain of what you say, Louisa?” 

“ If needs be I shall go out to the American War 
with you and him,” said the child steadily. “ I 
heard Uncle George say that unless Mr. Napier sold 
out you and I would have to follow him to America 
in a troop-ship. I should not so greatly mind if 
you were there. Did you think, dearest mama, 
that your child would have you go back to the 
sad days before Mr. Napier came? I shall have a 
sister in Louisa Napier. I can trust my mama to 
keep a corner of her heart for her child, however 
much she may love my new papa.” 

Mother and child clasped each other again, and 
face to face, each savored the salt tears on the 
cheek of the other. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

THE RING OF POLYCRATES 


I 

| ^HIS is my birthday/’ writes Sally a year 
X later. “ I am thirty-eight to-day, and I 
see nothing new under the sun except that till I was 
past thirty-six I never knew what real happiness 
was, which, from my marriage with Mr. Napier till 
now is much greater than I had any idea of as exist- 
ing in human life; and it is no small satisfaction to 
be able to say that at thirty-eight, as at least it se- 
cures that happiness from all the dangers of change 
in consequence of youth flying aw^ay; indeed, if I 
am to judge from the present of the future nothing 
can ever diminish my domestic comfort except ill- 
ness or death, which God keep far from us/’ 

II 

“ I am very well able to give you my thanks, my 
dear Lady Susan, for your kind anxiety about my 
health. I am now perfectly recovered, although be- 
ing a little weak and nervous : mais au reste je suis 
35i 


352 ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

enchantee de mon fils. It is a very healthy strong 
child, and promises very well to make his way in 
the world as well as his neighbor, poor little soul. 
Louisa is dotingly fond of it, which you may 
guess is a very pleasant circumstance, for as I am 
not one of those who know how to nurse and make 
a fuss about a child, she is always pressing me to 
attend more to it; wondering how I can be so little 
taken up with it, which you can see entirely pre- 
cludes all idea of jealousy, a passion which, happily 
for her, she is not disposed to have, but which you 
know people are too apt to create in young minds 
where it would never have come of itself. 

“ The infant is called Charles from dear Charles 
Fox, who is its godfather; it fights with its fists 
for what it wants and won’t be put off with less, 
which is perhaps a sign of the great hero the gipsy 
promised me. It is already like its father, of which 
I am glad; it could imitate nothing more heroical. 
Its papa already plans its training, poor mite, and 
is dotingly fond of it. What do you think? My 
Louisa raves against me that I call it It. It must 
be he if not Charles. What do you think of the 
puss? She is more its mother than I.” 


THE RING OF POLYCRATES 353 


III 

“ My Louisa is just as you left her, only a little 
taller and happily weaned of the vile habit she had 
acquired at Richmond House of supposing it quite 
necessary for a girl of her age to go to public 
places at least once a week. She has been out but 
three times one whole winter and thinks as little 
about it as I could wish her to do. There is not a 
soul in London so I have no news to tell you, ex- 
cept that you must sew some black penny ribbons 
upon every ribbon and gown you have of whatever 
color, and say it is a la Malbrook, as Louisa is 
doing this moment on an old bonnet: for if you 
are not a la Malbrook you are nothing. The rea- 
son? Why the dauphin’s nurse sung a Flemish 
song of Malbrook s’en va fen guerre, and in it the 
duke’s page announces his death to the duchess tout 
en noir and so must your ribbons be. I am very 
glad my little Charles is no dauphin, no, nor Prince 
of Wales. By the way the prince they say is 
desperately in love with Lady Melbourne, and when 
she doesn’t sit next to him at supper he is not com- 
monly civil to his neighbors; she dances with him 
something in the cow style but he is en extase with 
his admiration of her.” 


354 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 

£ 

IV 

“ We are settled here at Stretton Hall very com- 
fortably; a large house well-furnished and a pretty 
garden. I fancy we shall not stir unless the dear- 
ness of the country should drive us to Wales. Our 
society is quite to our mind. Louisa and I were 
agreeing that for people who live the year round 
in the country ’tis pleasanter to have what is called 
the lonely time in winter, as one can settle very 
comfortably to occupations in winter, whereas in 
summer one dawdles out-of-doors naturally and 
that is the best time for company. I told you, I 
believe, of the Moncktons, our very pleasant neigh- 
bors; his sister, the fine Miss Monckton, is to pass 
next summer here, but I’ve . my doubts about liking 
her: for I’ve a notion a very, very fine lady and 
soi-disant bel esprit est un mauvais meuble pour la 
campagne. We have been three weeks on a visit 
to Crewe Hall, which we all liked vastly. Mr. 
Crewe and Mr. N. took excessively to each other 
and stayed till three o’clock in the morning talking 
and playing at chess. Miss Crewe played at back- 
gammon with him in the morning; she, her mother 
and brother, played at cribbage with him in the 
evening, so he was perfectly occupied from morn- 


THE RING OF POLYCRATES 355 

ing till night, and they seemed pleased to find a 
person ready to be useful to them all, for as young 
Mrs. Crewe says it is so common in these days to 
find men who are ennuye to death if they are not 
exactly in their own set and at their own amuse- 
ment, that a man who likes anything is quite a 
treasure in the country. Louisa rode out in the 
morning (a great treat to her) and drove with Miss 
Crewe, and though there was no young person there 
contrived to divert herself vastly, partly with a 
play acted by children in the neighborhood. Mrs. 
Crewe and I, who don’t love cards or backgammon, 
used to sit and talk over old stories, of which you 
may guess we had not a few.” 

V 

“ I am now,” writes Lady Sarah after five years 
of married life, “ arrived at that perfection of quiet 
felicity that I begin to tremble at my own happi- 
ness. I have my four little children as well as my 
angel Louisa. Mr. Napier has fulfilled my tender- 
est hopes and expectations. I am as that gipsy 
said I should be, a Queen of Hearts. So tenderly 
am I adored by my husband and children that I 
sometimes tremble at so perfect a happiness. I 
feel as though something must be exacted of me, 


356 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


taken away from me: I must lose something pre- 
cious else I shall forget that I am mortal. My 
poverty contents me very well with Mr. N. by my 
side and my most dear children about me: so that 
it does not serve to counteract my felicity. I some- 
times look back on those quiet days at Halnaker in 
which after a long apprenticeship I thought I had 
secured content. How little I knew what awaited 
me in the mercy of God! Poor woman! I used 
to be haunted in those years by the sound of the 
Leader in flood, which seemed to be always with 
me. I can scarce believe I am that woman to whom 
such things happened. If it were not for my 
Louisa who bore me up through those dark years 
I could believe it all a dream. My blossoming time 
has come. Think of me as so happy that I am 
afraid.” 


VI 

“ I share many thoughts with Louisa which I 
should not dream of imparting to another girl of 
her age. She is a dear angel. Of late she is grown 
slender and is shaping prettily for womanhood. 
She will not be pretty, but there is a je ne sais quoi 
of pure goodness about her that far transcends 
beauty. She has no mind now at all to gaieties of 


THE RING OF POLYCRATES 357 

the worldly sort. She is fond of reading and paint- 
ing and music: and ever unselfishly disposed to 
set her own preferences to one side for the con- 
venience or pleasure of others. Mr. Napier calls 
her the Light of the House, and there is as tender 
an affection between them as though he were her 
father, for which I thank my God. 

“ I said something to her one day of my happi- 
ness being so great that it made me afraid. Some- 
thing looked at me from her eyes that was not 
Louisa. I have seen the same thing once or twice 
since and it frightens me. II me fait un serrement 
du cceur. It is as though she peeped at me from 
a great distance with a strange smile and away 
again. There is that in her expression at such 
a time that makes me feel I must clap my hand 
to my heart lest it should leap from me in a fright. 

“ ‘ My dearest mama/ she said, and that which 
was and was not Louisa peeped at me and fled, 4 if 
you were to be like that King who was obliged to 
throw his most precious jewel in the sea to save all 
the rest I would be that jewel/ ” 

VII 

In May, 1875, Louisa Bunbury developed a vio- 
lent cold and cough. A doctor being called in dis- 


358 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


covered that the lungs were irritated but not 
seriously hurt. A milk diet with occasional gentle 
infusions of bark seemed to cure the cold of its 
violence, but the cough yet continued. 

“ So long as her cough continues/’ writes Lady 
Sarah to Lady Susan, who is at Spa, “ I am in hot: 
water. I am wholly taken up, with Mr. Napier’s 
help, in watching her every hour. Tell me about 
Spa. It will distract my unfortunate spirits. I 
wish I could be of use to you; I passed a summer 
there eighteen years ago, but I am told que tout est 
change so completely there that I should scarce 
know it. The place did consist of six or seven 
largish houses and the rest a neat village of houses 
containing an entry and staircase with four rooms 
about nine or twelve feet square, one of them a 
kitchen, one of them for the landlord (only they are 
chiefly widows) and the two others for you, with 
bed-chambers over them: all plain white-washed 
walls and wooden chairs, very clean. Farmhouse 
windows at which everybody ( for the world lives in 
the great street) peeps in as you sit at breakfast, so 
that if you have not a back room or a large house 
you are at the receipt of custom all day. If it rains 
Spa is detestable. If it is fine and your health 
admits of it ’tis impossible to resist entering into 


THE RING OF POLYCRATES 359 

the good-humored idleness of the place, particu- 
larly as ’tis easily done without expense. 

“ You need never ask a soul to eat, but dine at 
two or three o’clock in peace. You may walk out 
in the street or in a promenade close by all the morn- 
ing, buy your own greens and fruit, read the papers 
at the bookseller’s, go a-shopping, or make parties 
for the evening. After dinner you go on foot to 
the rooms, play ball or walk, make your own party 
and walk home (or in a chair if sick) at nine, ten, 
eleven, twelve o’clock. In my time all was shut up 
at that hour, but now I hear late hours, parties at 
home and dinners are the fashions. My system was 
( et je m’en tres bien trouve) to cut all the tire- 
some English, to join the agreeable ones, if asked: if 
not I comforted myself with choosing my own so- 
ciety among the foreigners which I always found 
cheerful, obliging and very often agreeable. I’m 
afraid the mere eating and drinking are expensive; 
but your very delightful servant will remedy that by 
his care. Your dress need cost you nothing but a 
French lutestring for dress, as the great perfection 
of Spa is that it is a perfect masquerade, and as you 
will probably choose to dress French you may do it 
cheaply. A lady who left Paris last autumn tells 
me that the Queen and everybody wore white linen 


360 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


levettes and nightgowns all day long, no apron and 
a chip or straw hat with ribbons, and that when 
she went to the great milliner for a cap to bring 
home she told her there was no such thing except a 
court cap , and she sold her a straw hat for five shill- 
ings and the lady could not get the same in Lon- 
don under ten shillings, though Madam Bertin gets 
hers from England: this is an anecdote in dress 
worth your notice. Take gauze handkerchiefs in 
plenty of an ell square: I get them reasonable at 
a shop I will look for the direction of and add it. 
I know nothing of men’s dress, but that a Bruxelles 
camlet is a stronger kind of Irish poplin and much 
worn there for habits and coats.” 

VIII 

Having written this lively account, Sarah adds — 

“ Oh, my dear creature, I have written so much. 
But I divert myself with these toys. Day by day 
I see a shadow creeping nearer. My dear angel! 
How shall I live without her? She is all sweet- 
ness. She gets farther and farther away from me 
and her smile is from another country. Such a 
strange bright smile. I shall lose the most precious 
thing. The heart that loves me best is already 
beyond my reach.” 


THE RING OF POLYCRATES 361 


IX 

“ Your letter from Spa delighted me, being per- 
fectly comfortable and agreeable: and I am glad 
what I wrote was a help. I am out of that disposi- 
tion that even now a letter from you can afford me 
joy; but all such joys are gone from me in two 
minutes, for when a gleam of spirits comes across 
me and I think, ‘ Now I will write to my dear Lady 
Sue/ and I sit down to write, Louisa’s state comes 
uppermost and oversets all my spirits. They are 
only kept up by doing a thousand things for her 
which she receives with the sweetest gratitude. 
Never was so patient an invalid, yet the patience is 
so heart-breaking that I could wish her forward and 
ill-natured. You have not a child, and you do not 
know the look that is in my child’s face, that be- 
gins to ask me through that strange bright smile 
of hers ‘ What has she to do with me ? ’ I do not 
know how I am going to bear it. Is she the price 
I am to pay for the happiness of my marriage, a 
happiness I never expected nor looked for? I do 
not know. I only know that I dare not look be- 
yond the day.” 


362 


ROSE OF THE GARDEN 


X 

Six months later, and in the interval she has 
lost a child and gained a child, for she is the mother 
of a third son, she writes — 

“ It is but lately I have had the resolution to write 
to anybody. I can not talk much about my dread- 
ful loss. She is gone who made me see every 
pleasure in its brightest colors. All my occupa- 
tions were directed to her pleasure or use, all future 
plans of life had her for my first object, all my joy 
in kindness was doubled by her sharing it. How 
can I forget amidst my children, that she is wanting 
who has been mine these seventeen years when they 
were undreamed-of? At seventeen she showed how 
far human perfection can go at that age: no pas- 
sions had dared disturb that angelic disposition to- 
ward everything that is good. Patience, fortitude, 
self-denial, generosity, feeling and gratitude filled up 
the measure of her merits, which originally flowed 
from the sweetest natural disposition and was 
proved by a long and painful illness in which every 
day showed some new perfection. ... In the 
midst of the dreadful gloom that followed my 
angel’s loss, my husband proved such a source of 
strength to me that I praise God every day for 


THE RING OF POLYCRATES 363 


having bestowed upon me the love of such a man. 
He steadied me: he held my hands and bade me 
look up, to where my adored Louisa sits high above 
the frailty and suffering of this evil world. 

“ She comes to me in dreams. She has no more 
the brightness, the dreadful brightness, which every 
day carried her farther and farther away from me. 
She is my little Louisa as in the days at dear Hal- 
naker — when she was all I had. I try not to be 
a dejected object to cloud the cheerfulness of my 
husband and friends and of my little children. I 
can even laugh at times, but in the same moment 
in which I have laughed I feel un serrement du cceur 
as if all nature were darkened before my eyes and 
I had no farther business on this earth. 

“ My sweet lost angel ! Do you think she gave 
her young life for the preservation of my happi- 
ness, which else was too great for mortal woman 
to enjoy? 

“ I am Queen of Hearts, indeed, Queen of Hearts, 
— yet there is a thorn in my crown of roses, and 
there is a thorn in my heart. But there is one 
comfort. My child will never know now the story 
of the mother she set above all women.” 


THE END 









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